The Last of Us
by Kovukono
Summary: The continuation of Sanctuary. The story of the son of an exiled prince, and of a kingdom who is sent spiraling into decline through his actions.
1. Chapter I

**A/N: Here is the second part of Sanctuary-it has been separated from the rest, as recommended by a couple of readers. There is nothing new until the eighth chapter, except for those who haven't read Sanctuary. I _highly_ recommend reading Sanctuary before this.**

oOo

_Welcome to the Jungle  
__It gets worse here every day  
__Learn to live like an animal  
__In the jungle where we play  
__If you got a hunker for what you see  
__You take it eventually  
__You can have anything you want  
__But you better not take it for free  
_ —_Welcome to the Jungle_

Sansasha lied down happily in her soft bed of reeds next to the river. She closed her eyes as her father's tongue licked over her head. "Goodnight, Daddy," she said.

Jito smiled and nuzzled his daughter. "Goodnight, sweetie." He left her. Sansasha snuggled into her reed bed. For all she knew, she was the happiest cub in the world.

oOo

"Kria . . ." Rayan moaned.

"Mrr . . . it's too early," the lioness moaned. "We'll have plenty of time later." She rolled over, still half-asleep.

"Kria, it hurts."

Kria sighed. "_Males_." She turned over to look at Rayan. He was lying on his side, doubled over.

"Kria, it really hurts . . ." Rayan groaned. "It's—it's in me . . ."

Kria's smile faded instantly. "Oh, no . . ." It could have been anything. She had seen other animals that were in pain like this, all for various reasons. They had almost all lived—but they needed a shaman. "Where does it hurt?"

"My—my stomach . . ." He cringed as a fresh shot of pain overwhelmed him.

Kria frowned. He needed aid fast. "I'm going to go look for help," she said.

"No!" insisted Rayan. "Don't leave me."

"I have to. We need to get you a shaman."

"I don't want to be alone . . ."

Kria nuzzled him. "Don't worry. I'll be back, I promise."

"There's no one here to look for!" Rayan recoiled again.

"We have to find something. I promise, I'll be back soon. Just wait."

"Kria . . ." It was too late. She had darted through the steamy jungle. Rayan groaned, his stomach tensing again.

oOo

Kria made her way through the jungle, pausing to tear bark from the trees with her claws. It had become a habit over the two days they had spent in the jungle. It was impossible to know where you were without those markers. She'd definitely need them to get to back to Rayan.

She marked another tree when she noticed pure, unfiltered sunlight. It was almost impossible to find it here; most of the time, the trees blocked it all. She started toward it, pausing to mark a couple of trees. The sunlight was more than she had ever seen in the past two days. She headed for it when she realized she saw something she hadn't seen in days.

"Grass?" She began running toward the sight. She burst out of the jungle into a lush savannah. She blinked, the sun blinding her momentarily. How could this have been here the whole time without them knowing?

She walked hesitantly out into the savannah, fearing it would disappear if she examined it too closely. She stopped as she heard a heavily accented voice. "What do we have here?"

Kria turned to see an older lion walking toward her. "Um . . . hello," said Kria hesitantly.

"And who might you be?" asked the lion with a kind smile.

"Kria."

"What a beautiful name. I haven't seen you around here before," said the lion, circling her. "You know, the king can get _very_ territorial."

"The king? Is—is that you?"

The lion laughed. "You can call me Jabari. Everyone else does. Either that or 'that damn rogue.'"

"What's a rogue?"

Jabari stopped dead. "You mean you don't know?"

"I'm new here," Kria explained. "Please, I really need to find a shaman. My mate needs help."

Jabari hesitated for a moment before saying, "Well why didn't you say so? Here's what you're going to do . . . you see that cluster of trees over there? Far over? Just head over there. You'll find the shaman just fine."

"Oh, thank you so much!" Kria nuzzled the rogue before running toward the trees.

Jabari smiled. "The pleasure was all mine."

oOo

"Hey! You!" Kria came to a halt. She turned to see a young lion, only two years older than her at most, walking toward her purposefully. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I need to see the shaman," said Kria. "Please, you have to let me go, I have to get there."

"I've never seen you around here," said the lion suspiciously. He had the same accent as Jabari. "Where're you from?"

"Sanctuary," said Kria. "But my mate's in the jungle, he's sick—"

"Did you say Sanctuary?" the lion asked.

"Yes, but it's not impor—"

"Very funny. I'm not an idiot. Now where are you from?"

"I told you, Sanctuary!"

The lion blinked. "You're not joking?"

"No," said Kria exasperatedly. "I need to get to the shaman. Please! My mate's sick, he needs help."

The lion frowned. "Alright. Come on, follow me." He began leading Kria away.

"Can we go a little faster?" asked Kria.

"He's not that far away," said the lion. "I'm Jabali, by the way."

"I'm Kria. But please, can we hurry, we need to—"

"Hey! Moyo!" Kria stopped as an animal dropped from the tree they were under at Jabali's call, landing in front of the two of them.

"What is it?" asked the animal, standing himself up on his two hind legs. "I'm busy." He eyed Kria. "And who's this?"

"Her mate needs some help," Jabali said before Kria could speak. "Think you could help him out?"

"Hmm . . . what is his problem?"

"He's having pains," said Kria.

"Oh, very descriptive," said Moyo. "Anything else?"

"It's stomach pains," said Kria, slightly put off by the strange animal's rudeness.

"Hmm . . . you sound you're not from around here. Is she from around here?" Moyo asked Jabali.

"No, she's not."

"Well that could be her whole problem. She's just not used to it here yet."

"So you think you can help her?"

"She's standing right here!" said Kria in frustration. "And her mate could be dying right now!"

"I doubt it," said Moyo. "Jabali, you go and get the mate. Meet me back at my place." The beast disappeared into the savannah in a matter of seconds.

Kria looked up at Jabali uncertainly. "Well, you heard the guy. Come on, let's go." She began to lead Jabali back to Rayan.

oOo

Rayan shifted on the ground. His pain hadn't lessened at all. He had tried to get up and go after Kria, but it only seemed to make it worse when he moved. He whimpered as another shot of pain rammed through his gut. He wanted Kria back. He didn't want to be alone here.

He stiffened as he heard a male voice coming toward him. "Really, Moyo's the best. If anyone can fix your mate, it's . . ." The voice trailed off as its owner walked into the clearing where Rayan lied. Jabali stared at Rayan in disgust, his mouth, hanging open slightly in shock. Kria emerged from behind the lion.

"This is your mate?" asked Jabali.

"Yes," said Kria. "This is Rayan. Rayan, this is Jabali."

"Oh," said Jabali. "I—I wasn't quite expecting . . ."

"You weren't expecting to see a monster," said Rayan bitterly. He turned away from Jabali.

"He's touchy about the, uh . . ." Jabali struggled to find words that wouldn't enrage Rayan further.

"Yes," said Kria. "Rayan, I found help. Jabali's going to help us get you to the shaman."

"I can walk there myself," said Rayan stubbornly. He stood up, almost immediately collapsing in pain.

"I can carry him on my back," said Jabali. "I just need some help getting him on there."

Kria knelt down next to Rayan. "He can help you, sweetie. You just need to cooperate."

Rayan glared at her. "Fine," he muttered.

Jabali lied down next to Rayan, his rump almost touching Rayan's face. "Pull him on here." Kria tried to pick up Rayan gently by the nape of his neck, but Rayan pushed her away. He stood up, shaking, and walked a few small steps over Jabali's back, collapsing as the pain got the better of him.

"Is he on all the way?" asked Jabali.

Kria pulled Rayan on the rest of the way by the nape of his neck, Rayan in too much pain to protest. "He is now."

Jabali stood up, his legs shaking. "Gods—he could lose a few pounds . . ." He let out a breath of relief as he finally stood up fully. "That's better. Come on."

Rayan kept his eyes shut tightly as the trio moved through the jungle. He groaned as the pain coursed through him with every step Jabali took. The lion didn't provide the smoothest ride. He saw light through his eyelids and opened them, being blinded by the abundance of sunlight. He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes, when he caught sight of an animal.

It was flying.

He followed it on its path through the air. It was actually _flying_. It was physically impossible. Animals couldn't fly. It was ridiculous. He watched it until it disappeared. His eyes wandered elsewhere, landing on massive grey beasts walking through the savannah, larger than any he had ever seen. Smaller versions of them lounged in a waterhole, and land-based versions of them with horns munched on grass. Animals swung through the trees, using strangely-shaped paws to grab hold of tree limbs, actually standing on just two paws. Long-legged animals with even longer necks ate the leaves from the highest parts of trees.

_What kind of crazy place is this?_

oOo

Moyo looked up as the three lions walked up the ramp he had built into his tree. "Hey, one at a time! That thing's not meant to hold three!" Kria looked down at the ramp made of sticks tied together with vines. It certainly didn't seem like the sturdiest thing around.

"Where do you want him?" Jabali asked.

"Eh, somewhere over there," he said, waving a paw. As Jabali put him down, Rayan could see that Moyo was one of those strange animals swinging through the trees. He slid off of Jabali's back, wincing as he hit the ground not exactly lightly.

"I'd love to stay," Jabali said to Kria, "but I've got this thing I've gotta do with a guy in a place . . ."

"I understand," said Kria politely.

"I'll be back to check up on you guys later, okay? Dad'll want to meet you."

"Oh, um . . . thank you," said Kria. Jabali rushed out of the tree.

"Easy on the ramp!" yelled Moyo. He sighed, moving to Rayan. "You'd think the thing was actually built to last . . ." He knelt over Rayan, doing nothing for a few moments before he sighed in frustration. "Do you mind?" he asked, turning to Kria in annoyance.

"Mind what?"

"Look, it's personal, I know you're not from around here, but just so you know, but I need my privacy when I work, okay?"

"Oh, don't worry, I won't bother you," said Kria.

Moyo frowned. "Get out of the tree."

"What?"

"Get out of my tree, go take a walk, come back in a while, okay? Out. Now." Kria hesitated. "Come on, out! Git!" Kria walked down the ramp, leaving Moyo alone with her mate.

"Don't talk to her that way," said Rayan, his eyes closed tight in pain. He groaned.

"You're not really in any position to make demands," said Moyo. "Now roll on over so I can get a good look at you . . ."

oOo

Kria walked through the savannah, turning her head constantly to keep Moyo's tree in sight. The animal had to be one of the rudest little creatures she had met. She found an unoccupied waterhole and bent down, taking a drink. She froze as another reflection moved beside hers. She turned around. "Oh, er . . . Jabali?"

The lion chuckled. "Jabari." Kaata looked down at the ground, embarrassed. "Don't worry about it. We're fairly close as it is."

"Really? Um . . . are you his father?" she asked.

Jabari laughed out loud. "I'm a rogue. He is, after all, the prince around here."

Kria's eyes widened. "He was the prince? I can't believe . . . I was so rude!"

Jabari smiled. "He doesn't mind. He hates the title." Jabari looked around. "Why don't we go for a walk?"

"Alright," said Kria.

The two of them headed off into the savannah. Kria looked the lion older. Now that she looked at him, he seemed older than she had first realized. Grey streaked his mane. She could see muscles that had once been in their prime, but were now slowly fading. He turned to her, showing her his stormy, grey eyes.

"So," he asked, "I assume you found the shaman?"

"Yes," said Kria. "Rayan's there right now. That—thing told me to stay away until he finished."

"'Thing?'"

"Whatever animal that shaman is."

Jabari grinned. "He's a monkey. You didn't know what a monkey was?"

"We didn't have monkeys in Sanctuary," admitted Kria. "We didn't have half of the animals you have here."

"Really?"

"Really. It's like a whole new world here." She looked over at Jabari and smiled. "I don't know how I'm ever going to repay you," she said. "If it weren't for you . . . who knows what would have happened to Rayan."

"Hmm . . . well, I have an idea," said Jabari.

"What?" asked Kria.

"I think you know what." Jabari kissed her cheek.

Kria's eyes flew open. She stepped away from him. "I—Jabari, I've got a mate!"

"And? Have a little fun." The lion advanced on her.

"No! I can't! This is wrong, Jabari!"

The lion's sweet, caring face suddenly turned ugly. "You seem to think I was giving you a choice."

Kria screamed as the lion launched himself at her. She was pinned to the ground underneath him. She struggled to free herself, but it was no use. Jabari was simply too strong. "That's it," he whispered into her ear. "Struggle for me . . ."

"Help!" she screamed out. "_Help!_"

Jabari smashed a paw into the back of her head. "None of that!" Kria struggled desperately, her head filled with pain. She froze as she felt the lion position himself on top of her. He took the scruff of her neck in his mouth as he began his violation of her. She roared out in pain, sweat dripping from her paws as she struggled to free herself. She received another blow to the back of her head.

"Keep quiet!" the lion snarled. Kria whimpered. "That's it . . ." She shivered as she felt his tongue run up the side of her face. She just wanted it all to end. _Rayan_ . . .

Jabari roared out, then finally stepped away from her. He kissed her on the cheek. "Wonderful." He smiled down at her. "I guess we can consider our debts paid."

Kria watched him walk casually off into the grass, as if he hadn't just beaten down and raped a defenseless lioness. She shivered on the ground, paralyzed. She felt so unclean, so utterly filthy. _What will Rayan think of me?_

oOo

Moyo stood up over Rayan. "Alright, swallow these." Rayan disdainfully took the herbs offered him, trying to chew as little as possible on the leaves to avoid the bitter taste. "Okay, I have good news and bad news," said the monkey. "Good news: you'll stop feeling that pain in a couple of hours. It's just a little illness, almost every cub gets it, although how you managed to avoid it until now is beyond me."

"And the bad news?"

"Well . . . I really don't know how to say this . . ."

"I know," said Rayan. Here it would be, another cheap joke about his face.

Moyo laughed in relief. "Oh, thank the gods! I mean, I was just checking over you for like the past five minutes for a way to say it, but wow, this is a relief. I mean, you're the first one I've ever had that's actually completely sterile, and—"

"What?" asked Rayan, startled.

"Um . . . well, I don't really know how to say this . . ." said the monkey, scratching the back of his head.

"Did you say I'm sterile?"

"Completely sterile. I'm sorry to say this, but you're never going to have cubs. Ever. Like, in your whole life. Completely cubless—"

"I get the point!" Rayan hit the ground angrily. "How is this possible?"

"Well, part of it has to do with your balls being halfway burned off . . ."

Rayan glared up at him. He sighed. _How am I going to tell Kria?_

oOo

Kria rose up from the water, gasping for air. She panted for breath as she looked around. It seemed she couldn't get the dirty feelings away, no matter how much she bathed. She let out a long shuddering sigh as she stared down into the water.

"Kria?"

Kria's head jerked up. Rayan was standing on the edge of the waterhole. "Rayan."

"What're you doing?"

"I— I got hot and just . . . just wanted to cool off."

Rayan smiled. "Alright. Fair enough." He waded in next to her. "Come on, let's go home."

oOo

Kria stared up into the dark jungle canopy, back-to-back with Rayan. She couldn't seem to fall asleep, no matter how hard she tried. She still hadn't told Rayan. How could she? What kind of conversation was that? "Rayan, honey . . . I got raped." She wanted to tell him, more than anything . . . but she just couldn't. She was held back. After all, what would Rayan think of her? He'd think she was weak; he'd think that she was lying, and had asked for it; he'd think she hadn't been satisfied with him . . .

And cubs . . .

She had given almost no thought to the possibility. Yes, she had been in heat for a while, and Rayan had helped with that. But it was over now, she was almost sure of it. But what if she was pregnant with that monster's cubs? She'd never forgive herself and Rayan . . . Rayan never would either.

Rayan's thoughts wandered to Kria as he, too, tried to find some way to lull himself to sleep. She had wanted cubs so much. She had wanted _his_ cubs. She had crossed a desert just to be with him, had possibly saved his life today. She cared for him, had her heart set on him, undoubtedly would have loved him no matter what . . . so why couldn't he just tell her what the shaman had so casually spouted off?

"Rayan . . . honey?" he heard Kria ask.

"Yeah?"

"I love you . . . You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah. And I love you, too." He turned to her, a smile painted on his face, to see her smiling as well. The two kissed briefly before turning away again.

_Why can't I say it?_

oOo

Jabali pushed through the jungle, the foreign territory causing him to almost completely lose his orientation. If it weren't for Kria's markings, he never would have made it this far in. "Hello?" he called. He walked into a clearing, seeing Kria and Rayan lying together. "Uh . . . am I interrupting anything?"

Kria yawned. "No, nothing."

"What do you want?" asked Rayan shortly.

"Well," said Jabari, "I thought I'd introduce you guys to my father. After all, you're probably going to be hunting on his lands . . . And he'd like to meet you."

"Is this an invitation or a demand?"

"Oh, it's an invitation, of course. We haven't had anyone who's actually from Sanctuary since—well, it was generations before me."

"Fine," said Rayan, standing up. "We'll go." He turned to Kria, the lioness standing up next to him.

"Great. So, if you'll just follow me . . ."

oOo

The three of them stopped just outside a large den, much bigger than the one Rayan and Kria were used to. "Uh, could you two wait here for just a sec? I'll be right back . . ." Jabali disappeared into the den.

Rayan turned to Kria. "You okay, dear?"

She smiled back at him. "Just fine." She kissed Rayan on the cheek.

Jabali stuck his head outside of the den. "Uh, you two . . . you can come in now." Rayan and Kria followed him inside, stopping before a large lion that was sitting in the middle of the den. A few lionesses lay around the den, staring up at the newcomers in interest and, in Rayan's case, revulsion.

"Guys, this is Atawale, my father. Dad, this is Rayan . . ." The king nodded as Rayan was introduced. ". . . and this is Kria."

Atawale took Kria's trembling paw with his own and raised it passed his grey-streaked mane, kissing it with his lips. He looked up at Kria with his storm-grey eyes. "What a beautiful name."


	2. Chapter II

_What we have here is—failure to communicate_.  
—_Cool Hand Luke_

Kria hastily withdrew her paw, saying nothing about Atawale's comment. Atawale simply smiled at her, then turned back to Rayan. "My son tells me you are from Sanctuary?" he asked, somewhat skeptically.

"Yes, sire. I am Prince Rayan, and this is my mate . . . Kria."

"You can understand if I don't believe you. It's highly unlikely anyone would have made the journey across the desert. Dozens have tried, and all of them have yet to return."

"Are you calling me a liar?" asked Rayan bluntly.

"I would rather not," said Atawale. "It just seems that your story is—slightly farfetched. After all, no one since Giza has ever had that claim taken seriously."

"Giza?"

"A proud, noble lion. My ancestor in fact, many generations back. He came here, thinking he had found Heaven." Atawale chuckled. "You can imagine his disappointment when he realized he had only found Daima instead. He became king, and was possibly the wisest, strongest ruler we have had." Atawale smiled. "Of course, it's doubtful that he actually came across the des—"

"He did. He was the greatest king Sanctuary ever had."

"Really, now?"

"Yes. He ruled twenty-three generations before me."

"Is that so?" asked Atawale politely.

"I'm not lying," said Rayan.

"I'm sure. Now, I am willing to let you stay in these lands, even join my pride. But you will follow by _my_ rules. If you would rather not, you are more than welcome to leave."

"Leave where? There's nowhere to go but desert!"

Atawale laughed. "On the contrary, there's nothing but savannah as far as the eye can see. No one stays in the desert, it's practically uninhabitable."

"But—you mean there's _more_ savannah?"

"There's barely any desert."

"Is that so?" asked Rayan, mimicking Atawale's tone.

"You are more than welcome to see for yourself."

Jabali coughed behind the lions. Atawale turned to him. "Ah, thank you. You must excuse me, I must be going. Remarkably little that I have to attend to, but it does keep me busy." The old lion stood up and walked out of the den, leaving Rayan and Kria with Jabali and the rest of the pride.

"Sorry about that," said Jabali. "My father usually much more hospitable. Sometimes it can be a pain." Jabali grinned. "Sometimes I'd swear I was running the kingdom more than he is. So . . . would you like to meet the pride?"

"I think—" began Rayan.

"Of course," interrupted Kria in a polite tone. Jabali led them around the den, pointing out each lioness and stating her name. "And we've got a spot over there for you two; Dad's already agreed to let you stay.

"Uh . . . Jabali?" said Kria hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"We were thinking about just staying in the jungle—if that'd be alright," she said timidly. Rayan glared at her.

"Oh, uh . . . Are you sure?" asked Jabali.

"It may only be for a few days," said Rayan. "Assuming your father doesn't mind us on his lands."

"I don't think he will," said Jabali. "You don't seem like the gang type."

"Gang type?"

"You know. Troublemakers. We get a ton here. Especially rogues, you should stay away from them."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Rayan. "Now if you'll excuse us . . ."

"Sure," said Jabali. "See you two soon?"

"Maybe," said Rayan as Kria said, "Hopefully."

"Well, see you guys whenever," said Jabali with a smile.

oOo

Rayan shrugged the antelope onto the ground, quickly saying grace as Kria dug in. He glared at her over the meal. "What was that?" he said angrily.

"What was what?"

"Back at the den. We could have stayed there." He angrily ripped meat off the carcass.

"I just—I just didn't want to."

"We could have gotten out of this goddamn hellhole. You can't even breathe here."

"I just didn't want to stay there," said Kria, looking away.

"Then where do you want to stay? Here? You want to go back home and be ripped to shreds?"

"There's nothing wrong with being homesick."

"Forget Sanctuary. Forget it even existed. This is home now. That out there is our home."

"Why do you want to be out there? It—it can be nice in here," said Kria timidly. "It's rather comfy, it has a nice cozy feel—"

"I'm a prince, dammit!" snapped Rayan. "A prince! And here I am, wallowing in this filthy hole, and I can't even walk outside without them looking at me like a freak!"

The jungle was completely silent.

"Honey . . . look, just give it time. They'll accept you for who you are—"

"I could be sleeping out there tonight, in a den, and actually able to breathe for once, and you want to stay here!"

"I'm just—a little afraid."

Rayan snorted derisively. "Of what? Being welcomed to death?"

"I don't feel safe around Atawale."

"He may be a jerk, but at least he knows how to treat his guests," said Rayan. He stared down at the barely-touched carcass, then stood up and walked a little ways before he lay down again.

Kria walked over to him. "Are you okay?"

"I just want to sleep tonight," he said.

"But you barely ate anything. We haven't eaten for days, you need to eat _something_. You're getting thin, it's scaring me . . ."

"I'll eat when I feel like it."

"Rayan . . ." she lay down next to him. She nuzzled him. "You know I love you, right?"

He sighed. "Yeah." He looked up at her and grudgingly said, "I love you, too."

Kria smiled, her smile fading as he turned away. _All couples have their fights,_ she thought. _This'll pass_ . . .

oOo

Sansasha cringed as she lay near the river. "It's the same damn argument every time!"

"She's just as much my daughter as yours—"

"Then where are you? Huh? You don't ever come to see her, you never try to—"

"You know damn well that's not true! You never let me around her, _never!_ Sambi even tried to rape me when I asked if I could see her—"

"She's better off with me!"

"She's better off with you? Running around with thugs all day—"

"At least I'm not raising her to be a whore, like you!"

"At least I do something decent!"

"You're a filthy whore! What's decent about that? You were sleeping with that bastard Shaka right in front of her!"

"Don't you call me a whore! Augh!"

"I'll call you what I want, bitch. Now get—"

"Daddy?"

Jito turned around, startled. "Just go back to the river, Sashie."

"You hit Mommy."

"We're just talking. Grownup stuff. Now go back to—"

"Sashie! You want to come with Mommy, don't you?" Jito snarled at her. "You want to come live with Mommy? You don't have to stay with your father."

Sansasha looked from her mother to her father, and back again. "But I like it here with Daddy."

"Are you sure, honey?"

"I wanna stay with Daddy."

"But—"

"You heard her. Now leave!"

Sansasha's mother stood, shaking. "You even took her away from me!"

"I said _leave!_"

The lioness ran into the savannah, tears streaming down her face. Sansasha nuzzled her father. "You know I love you Daddy, right?"

"I know, sweetie. Now really, you need to get to sleep, it's late again and . . ."

oOo

So much had happened in the last four months. They'd finally moved out of the jungle, settling down on the outer part of the kingdom. Kria had convinced Rayan to stay out of Atawale's pride. He'd grown to even somewhat like it. It was peaceful, the two of them alone together. Jabali came by and visited often, seeing how the newcomers were settling in. Atawale came less frequently, mainly interested in business only.

It was about a month after they had come that Kria announced the news; she was pregnant. Rayan looked up in surprise, amazed. He couldn't believe it, but here it was, nevertheless. It was the happiest day of his life.

The first person to hear the news was Prince Jabali; he brought them to the den and gave them a feast. The king, Atawale, only attended briefly, only coming to extend his congratulations to Kria, saying she would be a fine mother.

Rayan took up the hunting from then on. He had become restless as it was; there was far less for him to do now that he wasn't the prince. Jabali did what he could to help his unease, showing him every corner of the kingdom. The land itself was interesting enough to raise Rayan's spirits; so many things were new to him here. The variety of animals, the difference in culture, the rain—the rain was amazing. Never before had he seen anything like it; water falling freely from the sky, dousing him. He was ecstatic when it began to rain all day—until it kept up for an entire month.

Kria amused herself with the other lionesses, learning of all the gossip around the kingdom. It was almost like being back home, and the lionesses instantly adopted her as their own.

It was in the third month that he began to have his doubts. He was, unfortunately for the both of them, a very jealous mate. In Sanctuary, it had been his, all of it—and now not even his mate was necessarily his own. He became more and more worried about her visits to the den, even going so far one evening as to interrogate her. The doubt of what she carried weighed more and more heavily on his mind.

And then the day finally came. He waited anxiously by her side, feeling her claws digging into his leg as she strained with the effort of giving birth. He was relieved when she finally let go, only to feel her grip it again an instant later. The shaman, Moyo, placed the first cub on the ground and then delivered the second. He placed them both in front of Kria's smiling face as Rayan looked on. "It's a boy and a girl," said Moyo.

Kria beamed up at Rayan. They had already chosen the names. She bathed the cubs happily. "Little Kaata," she said, nuzzling her daughter. "And little Reyn."

Rayan gently picked up his son, smiling, devastation hidden behind it. His cubs' pelts were darker than his, darker than Kria's, darker than any lion of Sanctuary. These were not his cubs. This was not his son.


	3. Chapter III

_Church is about food_.  
—_John Wentz_

Sansasha skipped happily alongside her father. She always enjoyed going to the Waterhole. There her father was always treated like a star by everyone who met him. There was almost always a carcass waiting for them; they were never lacking for food. She grinned as she saw Sambi, her father's advisor, waiting for them with a dead gazelle.

"Now what do you say, Sashie?"

"Thank you, Sambi," said Sansasha before starting on the carcass.

"How is it today, sir?" asked Sambi.

Jito smiled. "Just business as always."

oOo

"Jabali?"

Jabali looked up, then excused himself from the lionesses. "Rayan! Great to see you out and around. How's Kria?"

"She's ready to let the cubs out finally. Anyway, that's what I came here to ask. Do you have a place of religious congregation?"

"A . . . well, there is one leopard that gives services once every ten days. It's east of the Waterhole, about midday."

"Which waterhole?"

"_The_ Waterhole. Remember? I showed you."

"Oh. _Oh_. Okay."

"So I think the next one is about three days from then."

"Thanks. You think you could lead us over there?"

"Oh, I don't go," said Jabali.

"But—why not? Is it just for one faith?"

"Oh, no, it's for all faiths—and it's the only one in the entire kingdom. But you're going to find remarkably few people that actually care enough to go. Religion's just an old fad."

"I—see," said Rayan uncomfortably.

"I hope I didn't offend you or anything—"

"No, no, don't worry."

"I'm just, you know, voicing general opinion."

"I understand. So, three days?"

"And east of the Waterhole."

"Thanks."

oOo

"Rayan? Kria?"

The two lions looked up, surprised. "Oh, hi," said Rayan. "You're—uh . . ."

"I'm Teya," said the lioness. "Jabali asked me if I could lead you to service?"

"Oh, thank you!" said Kria. "But—already? I thought the service was at midday."

"You want to get there a little early," explained Teya. "Otherwise all the good stuff is gone?"

"Good stuff?"

oOo

There were enough carcasses to feed an entire pride for a week. "Just grab one," said Teya.

"Er, is this okay?" asked Rayan.

"Of course. A lot of animals just eat and leave, but I assume you'll be staying?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Here's a good one," said Teya, grabbing it in her mouth. She began dragging it, the task becoming much easier when Rayan helped out. Kria led them, carrying Kria as Reyn walked beside her to a spot away from the group of carcasses. Rayan took a few pieces off for Kria so she could eat as she nursed the two cubs.

It wasn't long before the two cubs were done and were busy playing. Teya pointed out animals she knew to Kria and Rayan, some of them stopping by to say hello and introduce themselves, Kria all the time keeping a watchful eye on her two cubs.

Teya finally said to them, "Oh, hey, the service is starting!" Rayan and Kria were surprised to see all the animals turning their heads in their directions, away from all the carcasses. Rayan turned, only to have the realization hit him.

They had managed to sit in the very front.

A leopard walked up to the front, only a year older than Rayan at most. "Hello, Teya," he said with a smile.

"Hey Kasisi," she said.

"And who are your friends?" he asked.

"Oh, this is Rayan and Kria. They just marched right up here to the front," she said.

"It's always good to see newcomers," said Kasisi. He bent his head to look at the two cubs, both of whom were interested in the stranger. "And such lovely cubs." He patted Reyn's head with a smile. "You're gonna die."

"I beg your pardon?" said Rayan.

"He's gonna die. And you. You're gonna die. And you," he said to Kria. He walked away from them, moving to a cheetah mother and her cubs. "And you." The crowd had fallen completely silent. He moved to several hyenas. "And you." He turned and faced the entire crowd.

"You are all going to die.

"That's something, isn't it? All of us—each and every one of us—has a day when we're just going to fall over dead. It could be today, could be tomorrow—it could be right now," he said, looking around. There were a few laughs. "But really, how many of you are ready to go. Come on, raise your paws. . . . Oh, come on, I thought there'd be at least one." More laughs. "But look at this—_none_ of us want to die any time soon. None of us want to go to Heaven, and have the gods look down at us and pass judgment. Scary, isn't it? To have the animals that just whipped up the world staring down at you, looking at you, reviewing every little thing that you did . . .

"Obviously, the first question that's going through your head is 'oh no, oh no, what'll they pick first, will they let me in—' You guys are probably glad it's not me. I'd just be waiting and waiting, building up that suspense." More laughs. "But we've all done things we're not proud of. I've done several myself. Of course, they're not things that you'd mention in general public; they're private things. Shh, don't tell!

"But why do we do these things? Really, why? Look at us, look at what we've come to. Between this and the twelve neighboring kingdom's I've been to, Daima is easily the worst. It's a pit, I'll say it. We have prostitution, we have narcotics, we have incest, we have rape, we have murder. Those are some of the most heinous crimes, in both the gods' eyes and ours, and they're done on a daily basis, right here, in our home.

"And we accept it. Why wouldn't we, after all? It's natural. Go with the flow and all that. Everyone else is doing it, why shouldn't I? It's a good question. Why shouldn't I? We live in a kingdom, where it's _average_ to be a murderer. It's not frowned upon; it's accepted and even praised. I know you've heard it a million times, I'm not going to bore you about how much could be done about the state of the kingdom, you know it all. But what have you _done?_ How many of you are embarrassed, to some degree, of what you've done? Show of paws. Come on. . . . I thought so. No, no, keep them up. Now, put it down if you're going to do it again."

Kasisi shook his head. "Three paws. That's all we see. Three paws. We live in a kingdom, last head count, of roughly two hundred _thousand_. And we have three paws who are willing to actually try to stop sinning. There's something wrong with that picture.

"So why is it so hard for us to stop? Just kick the habit, whatever it is. Because it's not that easy. I've tried to quit some of my things myself, but it's just not easy. We like what we do, we want to do what we do over and over and over. We just keep sinning. And we love it. We are being short-sighted. I guarantee you, no amount of pleasure is worth eternal damnation, no matter what it is.

"It's simple why we want it to stop. We're looking in the wrong places. We're looking at friends and family, asking them to help us. I'm not saying it's a terrible idea, a kind of 'I help you, you help me' kind of thing. There's nothing wrong with that. But that's not enough. Because no matter how much outside help you get, there's nothing that they can do to change your mind. What you do with your life is _your_ choice. They can't stop you from doing things, no more than you can stop me from saying the word 'banana.'

"When you're doing whatever it is again, take a good look at yourself. _You_ make yourself, not your friends. Not your family. _You_. So before you sin, as yourself, is this really you? Are you really a rapist, or a druggie, or a mate-beater? Is this who you want to be? Is this who the _gods_ want you to be?

"You don't have to answer to me. I'm there for you, but you don't need to explain yourself to me. You don't need to explain yourself to anyone—except the big guys up there. When it's all said and done, they'll be the ones sitting there, judging you," said Kasisi quietly. "And if you're not sure you're not going to be turned away, then there's definitely something that you need to be doing. Until you can say without a shadow of a doubt that you'll be waltzing into Heaven, then there's always something you can work on. I don't even know yet. But you can do it. All you have to do is keep on working at it."

Kasisi suddenly smiled. "And now, on a much lighter and less death-filled note, I'm hungry." There were a few nervous chuckles as the leopard made his way back to the carcasses. Almost all of them were gone. He picked at the remains, uncomplaining. A few of the animals went back and joined him, talking. Teya excused herself from Kria and Rayan and made her way back as well.

Rayan and Kria looked at each other. "That was . . . different."

oOo

Kria looked up as she heard the heavy sound of paws and grass rustling, instinctively drawing her cubs close. Both of them peeked out from behind her forelegs, looking at the intruder. "You!" said Kria in surprise. "What are you doing out here?"

Atawale smiled. "I just wanted to see the cubs for myself." He leaned down toward the cubs with a smile. Reyn leapt up and put a paw on Atawale's nose before falling down. Atawale chuckled. "What are their names?"

"This is Reyn, and she's Kaata," said Kria. She almost sounded reluctant.

"She has your face," said Atawale, patting Kaata on the head. "And her father's eyes."

"What do you want?" asked Kria, her voice shaking.

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you come here?" she demanded.

"I just wanted to check in on you and Rayan. Where is he, anyway?"

"He's out hunting."

"My son speaks highly of him. A bit of a strange notion of ruling. Mind if I lay down?" asked Atawale, doing so without waiting for permission. The two cubs scampered over to him, sniffing him and looking over him eagerly, despite their mother's hesitation.

"Daddy?" asked Reyn curiously.

Atawale laughed. "Atawale."

"A—At—At—"

"At—"

"At—"

"Ata—"

"A-Ata—"

"Atawal—"

"Atawal—"

"Atawale."

"At-a-wal-e."

"Atawale."

"Atawale!" said Reyn happily. "Atawale Atawale Atawale Atawale . . ."

"He's going to be saying that all day now," said Kria. "And it's only a matter of time before his sister picks it up."

"Sorry," said Atawale.

"So what's this I've heard about crime here?"

"There are just a few minor issues," said Atawale dismissively. "Sometimes they become a little extreme, but it shouldn't be anything for you and your family to worry about."

"What kind of problems?"

"Gang violence, murder. Little things."

"Those are _little things?_" asked Kria incredulously.

"Well, yes. They happen on almost a daily basis. Isn't it the same in Sanctuary?"

"We hadn't murder in years until recently! It's—barbaric!"

"It's fairly common here," said Atawale calmly. "You simply hear that someone is gone, and you don't think about it much more."

"You're the king! Do something about this!"

Atawale laughed. "What can I do? A king is only as powerful as the subjects who serve him—and there are very few of those. The masses rule Daima; it's their whim that makes the decisions."

"But—then why are you the king?"

"Well, Daima _is_ a kingdom. There has to be someone to interact with the other kings, someone to maintain relationships with the other kingdoms."

"Who would want to have relations with a kingdom full of murderers?"

"I think that's rather uncalled for," said Atawale coldly. "We are the largest kingdom in the known world. We have many resources, we have plenty of proud citizens who are proud to say, 'I'm from Daima.' We have a proud and noble culture."

"Animals die every day and you don't even have a problem with it! How is that noble at all?" asked Kria, almost yelling.

"I think you're blowing this out of proportion," said Atawale calmly.

"Atawale! Atawale! Atawale!" yelled Reyn, now skipping past with Kaata echoing him eagerly. Atawale smiled.

Kaata glared at him, calming down from the small interruption. "Maybe you should go," she said icily.

"You don't enjoy my company?" said Atawale with a smile.

"No," she said, even more frostily.

Atawale sighed, a slightly theatrical air to it. "And I thought we could be good friends, or at least good neighbors." He stood up. "There are a few things that I should attend to, anyway." He smiled at her. "I'll see you later?"

Kria said nothing.

"Well, this has been pleasant." He patted Reyn's head and then left casually.

Kria watched him go, the two cubs scampering around happily, shouting out the same word over and over until Kaata bit Reyn's tail, the two of them turning into a rolling, playing ball of cub. Kria watched the two of them, not saying a word, finally snapping out of it when she heard Rayan calling her name. She looked to see him with a small antelope he had dragged back.

"You okay, honey?"

The two cubs fell apart and ran to their father, running around his legs. "Yeah," she said. "I'm fine."

"Did something happen while I was gone?"

"Atawale! Atawale! Atawale!"


	4. Chapter IV

S_how me how to lie  
__You're getting better all the time  
__And turning all against the one  
__Is an art that's hard to teach  
__Another clever word  
__Sets off an unsuspecting herd  
__And as you step back into line  
__A mob jumps to their feet  
_—_You're Gonna Go Far, Kid_

Sansasha lay by the river, happily losing herself in its noise. It had become a comforting sound, one she tried to find as often as she could. She'd found it helped herself think, helped her escape a little bit from the world.

"Sashie?"

Sansasha looked up. "Mom? What are you doing here?"

"I—uh—I came to see your father. Is he around? I didn't see—"

"Dad's taking care of stuff with Sambi. He always is around this time. You know that."

"Oh, yes, right . . ." She pawed at the ground. "Silly me. . . . Er . . . well, do you think you could, you know . . . maybe find some time for me to talk with him?"

Sansasha glared at her, before getting up as she exclaimed, "Oh my _God_, this _again?_"

"No, Sashie, it's not like that. You don't know how much I miss him—"

Sansasha started walking away. "You don't miss him, Mom. You don't even care about him; all you want is his stupid prestige."

"Sashie, that's not true!"

"_Don't_ call me Sashie!" she yelled. "You _can't_ call me that! That's _his_ name for me, not yours!"

"But Sash—Sansasha . . . honey . . ."

"Look, if you want to have the privilege of being Dad's personal slut, you'll have to talk to him yourself. But don't try to get to him through me."

"Sansasha, I never wanted that. I care about your father—"

"You've been trading off sex for favors for every gang leader in power for my entire life! You left Dad because Dhahabu got more influence than he did. And three months after that you were shacking up with Mfalme! I know just what you are."

"I did what I had to do—"

"Hah! That justifies it? What about _me_, Mom? You left _me_ with him."

"I wanted to take you with—"

"That's bullshit!" yelled Sansasha. "You never would have taken me! Dad's the only one of you two that even cared! You've been a shitty excuse for a mother, and now you just expect to come crawling back?"

"Sansasha, please, you have to believe me!"

Sansasha shook her head. "No. I don't have to do anything. I've got the power here, you've got nothing. I'm not going to let you back into our family just so you can leave again. You're going to walk out of here, and you're going to _never_ come back, you hear me? I don't want to see you again, and I'm sure Dad doesn't either."

"Sashie—"

"LEAVE!" she screamed. She watched her mother slowly turn and walk away. Sansasha lay down by the river, and sighed. She stared into the river and watched as it slowly ebbed her anger away.

oOo

Two years. It had been two years since his exile, Rayan reflected. It had been a difficult transition, most especially from being one of the most powerful animals in his world to being someone that no one cared about at all. Two years of being nobody. It was almost a relief in some ways. He didn't know how he ever would have been a father otherwise.

Two years had passed, and already Reyn was so independent. He was a model of Reen more than Rayan; always willing to give out favors to whoever asked, always wanting to help wherever he could. Reyn was smarter than his father, Rayan could see that easily. It was a challenge raising him; the one word he seemed to live by was "why?"

It was sometimes embarrassing, the amount of time he spent with Reyn as opposed to being with Kaata. Kaata simply wasn't what he wanted in a cub; Reyn was always willing and ready to help others, while Kaata was more submissive and shy about it, preferring to quietly spend time with her mother. Rayan spent almost no time with his daughter, Reyn simply needing more attention to satisfy his appetite for the world.

It was times like these that he wanted to have his father alive, to have him to turn to in aid for guiding cubs. Reen had always been there for Rayan; he had never had any trouble giving Rayan the space he needed to grow; for Rayan, the strain for more that Reyn had was too much. Rayan felt him slipping away almost daily, his grip over the cub tightening uselessly. Was it really too much to ask for Reyn to be a little more like Kaata? To need his family a bit more?

"Rayan, you can come back over here," said Kria. "You know just sitting out there waiting isn't going to make him come any sooner."

"I don't think he's been gone this long before," said Rayan.

"He always comes back, Dad. You know that," said Kaata. She continued eating at the carcass with her mother.

"I'm just worried. Is it wrong for a father to be worried about his cubs? In this kingdom of all places . . ."

"You know they won't hurt him, Dad. They don't have any reason to."

"But what if he gets mixed up in the wrong crowd? The last thing we need is for him to be in some gang, going around killing needlessly—"

"He's home, dear," said Kria.

Rayan turned around. "Hey, Dad!" said Reyn, running up, a cheetah cub by his side.

"You shouldn't have been gone so long, I was worried," said Rayan. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Daba," Reyn said, turning to the cheetah cub.

"Hey," said Daba.

"Well hello, Daba," said Kria. "It's nice to meet you. You want to have something to eat? We were just finishing up."

"Sure!" said Daba. "That'd be great!"

"Reyn, you never told us you were bringing a friend home," said Kria.

"I don't think he's even told us about—Daba, was it?"

"Mm-hmm!" said Daba, his mouth already stuffed with meat.

"We just met a couple of days ago," said Reyn. "Hey Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Who do we pay protection to?"

Rayan couldn't believe the words coming out of his son's ears. "I beg your pardon?"

"Daba's not supposed to be here if it's Jito."

"We are not going to stoop to paying protection," said Rayan. "This is a proud family, son. Don't forget that."

Daba swallowed, half-choking on the meat. "You mean you don't pay any protection?" He coughed. "To _nobody?_"

"No. Why should we? We've done nothing wrong."

"Yeah, but what if someone comes up in here and decides they just want somethin'?"

"No one has done any such thing in the past two years that we've been here. Why would they start now?" said Rayan reasonably. "We simply aren't going to affiliate ourselves with needless gang brutality."

"You ain't gonna what?"

"Dad doesn't like the gangs," said Reyn.

"Why not? They're awesome!" said Daba.

"Yes, well, awesome or not, I trust you two have more than enough sense to not get involved with them. We're decent animals, we don't need any trouble."

The conversation carried on for a few more minutes, Reyn and Daba happily eating as Rayan and Kria continued to ask questions about their guest. It wasn't until a little later that Reyn asked, "Hey, Dad? Do you mind if I walk Daba home?"

"Isn't it a little late? I can take Daba home myself," said Rayan.

"Aw, come on Dad, please? It's not that far!"

Rayan opened his mouth, but felt Kria's paw move on top of his own. "Sure, but make sure you come back soon, dear."

"Thanks, Mom!" said Reyn. He began to trot off. Daba followed him, then stopped and said, "Oh, yeah, thanks for the meal and stuff!" before running after Reyn.

Rayan looked at Kria. "Don't worry, sweetie," she said, nuzzling him. "He'll be fine. You've got to let him have some freedom."

Rayan sighed as he watched the two half-cubs walking into the distance. "I know," he said reluctantly. _But I don't want to_.

oOo

"Hey, sorry about all the questions and stuff," said Reyn.

"It's okay," said Daba. "Your parents are cool."

"So . . . wanna hang out tomorrow or something?"

"Sure!" said Daba. "Wanna meet at the Waterhole?"

"Yeah, sounds good," said Reyn. "See you then!"

Daba smiled as he watched Reyn go, then turned to walk to his mother. He heard the usual noise: an angry cheetah that had run out of herbs. He lay down a good distance from her, trying to ignore the noise. Maybe this was why cheetahs were such solitary creatures.

oOo

Kigune walked through the grass, heading toward the waterhole. The full moon was beginning to shine brighter in the sky, darkness enveloping the land. It was beautiful, turning the land's golden savannah into waves of silver.

Kigune really didn't care.

Something more pressing was on his mind: killing Jito. Granted, it was an extremely stupid thing to do, but the lion was leaving him with almost no other option. He had been squeezing down on his territory, muscling in on all of his enterprises, simply for his own personal gain.

Just how was that fair?

Someone had to do something, and since all of his allies were suddenly abandoning him, Kigune found himself on his own. His own gang was miserably small, after the numerous bribes and double-crosses that had happened. Two years ago he'd owned this kingdom; there had been no one to stand in his way.

He'd find a way to kill Jito if it was the last thing he did.

A rustle in the grass made him stop and turn. A lion half-cub stepped out of the grass, stopping when he saw Kigune. "What do you want?" Kigune growled in annoyance.

The cub hesitantly began to walk around Kigune. "Er—nothing. I was just out here . . . I didn't mean to bother you." He looked away, trying to escape.

"Whatcha scared of, cub?" asked Kigune with a smile.

The half-cub stiffened. "Nothing, nothing . . . I should just be getting home, that's all," he said. "It's late . . ."

"Well where do you live? You lost?"

"Yes," the half-cub said quietly.

Kigune laughed out loud at the cub's obvious terror. "Relax, kid, I'm not gonna hurt ya. You wanna get back home?" The half-cub nodded mutely. "We can make that happen. Where you live?"

"Southeast of the Waterhole."

Kigune's eyes widened; that was Jito's territory—and had used to be his own. "Don't worry, I know how to get there. We'll be there in a second. Come on."

He began walking toward the cub's home, his mind working. Finally he turned to the half-cub and asked, "Hey, what's your name, kid?"

The cub hesitated and then said, "Reyn."

"Reyn? Kind of a weird name."

"It's mine," said the cub defensively.

"Not trying to insult you or anything," he said. "Who you with?"

"What do you mean?"

"What crew?"

"I'm not in a gang."

Kigune's eyes widened ever so slightly. He looked down at the half-cub. "Is that so? Why not?"

"Dad doesn't like 'em."

"I don't see why not. They're the backbone of Daima." He looked back down at Reyn. "You ever thought about getting in one?"

"Um . . . yeah, a little," admitted the half-cub.

"Well, I'm always looking for new sets of paws. Why don't you try your luck over with my crew?"

"Really?" asked the half-cub.

"Yeah, sure," said Kigune. "Just come over to—hmm . . . Well, it's a little bit north of the Waterhole. Little bit to the east of the royal den. Know the place?"

"I think I can find it."

Kigune smiled. "I'm sure you can. Hey, you think you can find your way back home from here?"

"Yeah. Thanks, uh . . ."

"It's Kigune." He turned and started to walk away with an ever-widening smile. "See you tomorrow, kid."

oOo

Daba arrived at the waterhole the next day and began to lap up some water. He suddenly felt someone ram into him and began coughing and spluttering. "What the hell was that for, Reyn?" he said angrily before coughing again.

"Sorry about that, but look, I found this great thing," he said, almost bouncing up and down.

"What is it?" asked Daba, clearing his throat.

"You know how you said you wanted to be in a gang?"

Daba's eyes widened. "No way! How'd you manage it?"

"I just found this guy last night. He offered to let me in, and I'm sure he'd do the same for you."

"Awesome! Who is it?"

"It's this Kigune guy."

Daba tried to remember the name. "Him? But he's just small stuff."

"Well, you've gotta start somewhere, right? Besides, this is a lot easier than making our own," Reyn pointed out.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right . . ."

"Come on, he told me to meet him today!"

oOo

Kigune lied lazily in the grass, basking in the shade of a tree. He heard rustling and turned his head with a smile. He saw Reyn break through the grass, followed by a cheetah of the same age. "Hey!" said Reyn.

"Who's this?" asked Kigune, his smile vanishing.

"Oh, this is Daba. You mind if he comes along?"

Kigune looked over at the smiling cheetah. "Weeell . . . I suppose one more couldn't hurt. Alright. Welcome to the club, boys."

"Yeah!"

"Alright!"

"Course, there are a few little things, stuff like that. Making sure you work with our whole operation. See, we can't just have anyone with us. We need someone who has the _community's_ interest at heart. Someone who wants to make a real difference, who's willing to sacrifice. Gotta put the group before yourself, you know. Think you two can do that?"

"Yeah, of course!" said Reyn.

"Whatever you need!"

Kigune's smile widened. "You know, I think you boys will fit in perfectly."

oOo

Jabali walked into the grass. The scent markings had said this was Rayan's place, he had to be here somewhere . . . "Oh, hi guys, there you are." Rayan's head snapped up to him, Kria and Kaata's staying down.

"Quiet," said Rayan. "They're napping."

"Ah. Well, anyway, I just came by, wanted to see you."

"Let's walk a little further away," Rayan said to the prince. "Kaata's a relatively light sleeper . . ."

As they walked, Jabali said, "I'm glad to see your family hard at work serving the community."

"Um . . . well, thank you, but what exactly do you mean?"

"Reyn, of course. He's been doing well, working with Kigune. He's obedient, he's willing, he's always ready to help. You've raised an excellent son."

"Why thank you, sire, but I have to tell you—I have no idea what you're talking about."

Jabari looked at Rayan curiously. "You do know what your son's been up to, don't you?"

"Well, I've assumed he's been off having fun with friends or something like that. I didn't exactly have the luxury of free time in my cubhood; I'm honestly not quite sure what he'd be doing."

"Rayan—Reyn's joined a gang."

"He _what?_"

"Yes, and he's wonderful in it. He's really hit his niche."

"But this is—this is terrible!"

"I don't follow," said Jabali. "What's so bad about it?"

"I don't want him in with a bunch of conniving thugs and murderers!"

"Thugs and murderers?"

"Yes! Don't you have any idea what's going on in your own kingdom?"

Jabali smiled. "I think I have a better idea than anyone—and definitely better than my father. I'm assuming you heard all this from him?"

"You said this yourself, the moment we walked in!"

"I wouldn't have ever said they were murderers and thugs," said Jabali. "They cause a bit of a stir sometimes, but you have to admit, life would be pretty boring without some surprises. There may be a murder here and there, but overall, they're the lifeblood of Daima. They're what keeps it running, what keeps it alive. Your son has joined a noble profession."

"Noble profession of killer?"

"More like—servant of the kingdom. Besides, now you're giving back. I realize your need was great, and I'm assuming that's why the gangs have been so lenient on you—but Reyn has put his first paw forward with this. It's good to see him sacrificing for his family."

"You're making less and less sense," said Rayan shortly.

"Ah . . . sorry about that. You do know what he does, right?"

"Goes out and beats down innocents?"

Jabali laughed. "Hardly. I believe I saw him guarding the herds last time I saw him."

"You mean stealing."

"Guarding?"

"Well yes. What did you do in Sanctuary?"

"We hunted when we needed to."

"Well, you see, it occurred to a king—Giza, oddly enough—that the only way one could measure success was by what he had. Of course, there's the most obvious way to do this—land—but the animals inside the kingdom couldn't exactly secede—they'd be taken right back in through overwhelming pressure. So it somehow was decided that food would be the currency of the kingdom. Granted, territory still plays a small part in this—you need sufficient land to feed and water your herds—but the herds still are the most noticeable sign of wealth."

"I've never heard of anything so—strange. Why would you need to measure yourself by benchmarks?"

"There's not exactly an easy answer to that. I'm sure you had some kind of council back in Sanctuary; the basic principle applies here. Originally, Giza was so selfish that he said that all of the herds were his and his alone, as he was the king—as if simply being ruler of the land entitled him to everything in it. Of course, more sensible animals came around, and they decided to take control of herds themselves by force—there was nothing the king could do about it, he was only one animal after all. And whoever had the most herds had the most animals depending on him—the biggest sway in the community. Sometimes the king does meet with the gang leaders, and of course, they're given voice by their herds."

"So Reyn's . . ."

"Guarding his gang's herd, of course. It's a small group, only five whole people in it—but Kigune used to be the best gang leader around. He's fallen on hard times. It's not his fault—he was good, willing to sacrifice for the community, and they took advantage of him."

"Who?"

"The other gangs. Jito, mainly. _He's_ the one that gives Daima a bad name. He thinks only of himself. He's heartless, ruthless—he wouldn't even kiss his mother if he didn't get something out of it. And the worst of it is that he controls—because of his tactics—more land and food than anyone else. And his daughter, from what I here, is turning out just as bad."

"I see. Well, that could be a problem, I suppose. Wouldn't want one animal starving all the rest."

"Exactly. You seem like a reasonable enough animal."

"So what Reyn is doing—"

"Is _good_. He's helping out his community, sacrificing his own self for everyone else—_that's_ the kind of exemplary service all of Daima needs."

"And here I thought that this was a terrible place to live," said Rayan. "No offense, sire."

"None taken. You've probably just been listening to my father. Really, this is a wonderful kingdom, the healthiest around. And we get new residents every day. Not too many kingdoms can say that."

Rayan smiled. "Maybe Daima isn't such a bad place after all."

oOo

Kigune loved Reyn. He was smart, able, and always produced, no matter what was asked for him—all of it simply for the gang. He asked nothing in return, nothing back at all—he only took what was absolutely needed to feed his family, nothing more. It had easily been his best choice in his career. If Kigune said he needed something, even if he hinted at it, it was there, magically placed there by Reyn.

It was teaching Reyn the art of influence that was the most difficult. He had a tendency to talk straight. He refused to hide his motives; he simply wore them on his chest. It made him easy to read—and easy to trust. All Kigune had to do was teach Reyn to speak a little more influentially, to take out a word here and put in a word there—

Reyn did it perfectly.

It was simple and easy—all Reyn had to realize was that it was simply for the good of others that he acted—one animal sacrificed for the many. He helped those that needed him most without a second thought. There were times when Kigune didn't have to say a word and it was so—Reyn had become almost self-sufficient.

It was two months after Kigune had taken Reyn under his wing when half of a competitor's herd had come to his own. The competitor had been said to be under tremendous stress. His entire family had been deathly ill, and he was in no position to control his herds. It was better to give them to the community after all, so there would be no waste.

It was two weeks after that that another competitor had too much land for so few herds. It was only fair that it be distributed accordingly to how much each gang needed. It was divided up, Kigune's space expanding so that he could better fulfill his civic duty.

Three days later another competitor came to Kigune, willingly giving up what he had, more than happy to serve under Kigune's able leadership.

Kigune lay in the grass, simply looking over his gang's land. "We can do a lot with this, Reyn," he said. "For the betterment of civilization, of course. Doubling what we have in just a few months—imagine the aid we could give in year."

"Uh, Kigune . . . I kinda noticed a problem. We're losing the herds faster than they're replenishing. We have more than enough land, but—"

Kigune laughed. "Don't worry about that, kid."

"Really?"

"Of course. Don't worry, if worst comes to worst, one of the bigger guys can help us out. They've got too many herds as it is. They don't need all of them."

"Well, that does make sense," admitted Reyn.

"Besides, we're doing more good than any of them ever could be. Not a single person who's come here asking for aid has been turned down, not a single needy family gone unfed. _That_, kid, is progressive. _That_ is what the world needs to be. Just one big happy family, where we all watch each other's backs."

"It's just a shame that some are too stupid to see it," said Reyn.

"It certainly is," agreed Kigune. "I gotta tell ya, kid, me and you—we make a great team. You got ideas, you got _potential_. It's like you ain't even an animal; you're my own personal force of nature."

Reyn smiled. "I had a good teacher."

Kigune chuckled as he grabbed Reyn, shaking him slightly. "Trust me, you're gonna do great."


	5. Chapter V

_Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.  
_—_Oscar Wilde_

"Please sir, I'm begging you! My clan is starving! We have always gotten our food from here," begged the hyena.

Sansasha sat behind her father, staring at the two of them talking. "It's not negotiable," said Jito. "We have asked for one simple thing: your clan to support us for the food it takes. You've declined."

"You keep asking for more and more!"

"Your clan keeps growing. I will gladly give you food for what you have served me for—and not a kill over."

"We're going through a very difficult time!" said the hyena. "You must give us more—"

Sansasha's attention was suddenly distracted by a tap on the shoulder. She looked over to see a lion standing next to her. "I'd like to talk to you," he said. "Privately. It concerns your father."

Sansasha stood up and followed him away from her father, her father barely glancing before turning back to the hyena. "Yes?" she asked when they had walked a short distance. "What is it?"

"Actually, it's about your father joining a rather elite group. My name is Gatu—I own one of the smaller herds in the kingdom. Myself and several of the others of the kingdom have decided that it would be better for the community if we would pool our resources—for the kingdom and community, of course."

"No," said Sansasha.

"'No?'" asked Gatu, his smooth oration suddenly interrupted.

"No. We want no part of it, I assure you."

"Ma'am—I assure _you_ that it would be very much in your best interests. Think of all the good it would do!"

"We're not interested in the public good."

Gatu seemed taken aback by the statement. "But ma'am, surely you can realize the valuable importance your father is to this kingdom—to hundreds of animals."

"I realize that absolutely. That's one of the reasons I'm going to refuse to let you talk to him."

"Ma'am—"

"We are not interested in any measures you may propose for 'the public good,' for 'the kingdom,' or for 'the greater good.' We are interested in our own selfish, private interests. I don't expect you to understand that; I simply expect you to report that back, verbatim, to whoever sent you."

"Ma'am," said Gatu, assuming a steely tone, "I think you should at least give it a chance. It would be in your interest."

Sansasha's mouth didn't move at all, but her eyes danced with laughter. "And you, 'sir,' should learn when to shut your big, fat blowhole." Without another word, she turned and resumed her duties: guarding the herd.

oOo

Kria was grooming Kaata and getting the same treatment when she heard heavy paws moving through the grass. She looked up to see the king standing above the two of them. She pulled away from Kaata. "What do you want?" she asked acidly.

"What do you want 'sire,'" corrected Atawale with a smile. He lay down next to them. "Let me have at least that small pleasure. Respect for the crown is scarce these days."

"I wonder why," growled Kaata.

Atawale smiled kindly. "I don't think you liked me from the moment you set eyes on me."

"There was a time . . ."

Atawale laughed. "And then it was over, wasn't it?" He looked around. "Where's Rayan and Reyn?"

"Gone, as I'm sure you well know."

"Believe it or not, I do _not_ visit only because I know he's gone."

"Really? And what other reason do you have?" asked Kria.

Atawale laughed. "So vicious . . . can't I check to see how my loyal subjects are doing?"

Kria glared at Atawale. "Your visits have been nothing but disruptive to our family."

"They wouldn't be quite so disruptive if you would simply take my offer and move in with us. There's still room in the den for four more," offered Atawale with a smile. Kria's gaze should have killed him. "Very well," he said amiably. He stood up. "Would you please send Reyn my way, at least? I'd like to talk to the boy . . . I've been hearing some disturbing things."

"Just go," growled Kria.

"As you wish," said Atawale, standing and walking out.

"I don't know why you don't like him, Mom," said Kaata. She began to groom her mother again. "He seems nice."

"He's nothing but trouble!" exploded Kria, pulling away from Kaata and walking away. "He's never been anything but trouble!"

oOo

Atawale strolled through the dusk, humming softly as he walked, looking over "his" lands. He jumped as he heard a voice. "You wanted to see me, sire?"

Atawale turned to see Reyn standing next to him. "You shouldn't sneak up on an old lion like that," said Atawale. "You'll scare off what few months I have left."

"Yes, sire."

Atawale chuckled. "You don't have to be formal with me. Just call me Atawale. Leave 'sire' to the important animals."

"Yes—Atawale. My sister said you wanted to see me?"

"Well, I've been hearing some things about you—and besides, I hardly ever get to talk to you face-to-face. Alone. It's hard to get the measure of a lion when you're talking to him through a group."

"I know what you mean, si—" Reyn broke off, looking embarrassed.

Atawale smiled. "What does that mean to you? 'Sire?'"

"It means that I'm bound to follow any order you give me," said Reyn slowly.

Atawale's smile grew. "You probably wouldn't believe the number of animals that would say that."

"I don't know why. I'm sure there are plenty of others—"

"Do you really believe that?"

"Yes," said Reyn. "Why's that so hard to believe?"

Atawale looked away from Reyn down to his paws as he kept walking. Such naïveté . . . "Believe it or not, I have less power than even your little old leader."

"Kigune? But he doesn't have any power—"

Atawale burst out laughing. Reyn glared at him. "I really, truly am surprised. Really, I thought you'd be _nothing_ like this," said Atawale. "I thought you'd know exactly what you were doing . . ."

"Of course I know what I'm doing?"

"Then what are you doing? Serving the common good?"

"Yes!"

"Bringing betterment to animals' lives?"

"Yes!"

"Helping the poor out of their filth-holes?"

"Yes!"

"Making them dependent on lies?"

"Ye—" Reyn glared at him. "It's not like that."

"I beg to differ."

"Look, I'm know I'm good! I can feel it! When I help them out, when I see the way that they look at me, so thankful for what little I can give them—it just makes my heart swell in my chest."

"Ah, yes, the heart," said Atawale. "I never put too much stock in it."

"What we're doing is good," said Reyn firmly.

"What you're doing is _not_ using your head." Atawale looked down at Reyn with a smile. "I'd love to talk longer, but you caught me at a bad time. Why don't we meet again? Tomorrow? Same time?" Before Reyn could say anything, Atawale headed away.

oOo

Bwana lay in the grass, "guarding" her herds. She decided to make a show of her job and stood up, walking around the periphery, looking at the few other guards. Her eye caught Reyn and she decided to stop and lay down by him. Reyn looked over at the hyena. "Yes?" he asked.

"Nothing. Just decided to stop here."

"Hmm."

Minutes passed, the two of them just watching the clouds go by. A leopard walked up. "You mind if I get something?" he asked.

"Knock yourself out," said Bwana before Reyn could open his mouth.

"You're fairly loose with herds that aren't yours," said Reyn.

"We allow anyone to get one sooner or later," pointed out Bwana. "Why bother?"

"Because there are rules."

"And, by the rules, was he gonna eat?"

". . . Probably . . ."

"All he had to do was prove he was hungry," said Bwana. "Nothing else."

"You don't sound too happy about that."

"I'm not."

"Why? We're helping animals."

"They're not asking for help."

"They are every time they come here."

"They weren't coming her until Kigune came here."

"How do you know?"

"This used to be my herd," said Bwana simply.

"What do you mean, your herd?"

"Why do you think you were sent over here? You're the new manager of this herd. You're here to make sure no one does anything stupid, that no one gets turned away hungry—namely, to run it differently than I was."

"What, you weren't giving it out to those that needed it?"

Bwana snorted. "Hell no! This was _my_ herd. If people wanted something from _my_ herd, they had to work for it. I wasn't going to let some sick, starving momma come up to me with all her little pups and just say, 'Please, ma'am, I want some more.' She'd have to earn it, just like someone else."

"That—that's disgusting," said Reyn.

"How so?"

"If she needed the food, you should have given it to her?"

"And what would I get out of it?"

"Why should you get anything out of it?"

"So you expect me to work at a loss? You expect me to just hand away my own herds willy-nilly, giving them to whoever pleases?"

"It'd be the decent thing to do."

"It would be the most corrupt and unjust thing I can think of."

"Why?" asked Reyn. "Because it hurts _you?_"

"Yes," said Bwana, "because it hurts _me_. And it hurts anyone else that tries to use that system."

"I don't see how. We're helping animals, not hurting them."

"Alright, hypothetically: what if some girl got raped?"

"That'd be terrible," said Reyn. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, wouldn't it be fair? I mean, the lion _needed_ sexual relief—"

"That's no cause to rape someone!"

"Why not? She should be more than happy to give herself up for his needs."

"It's the stupidest thing I've heard of!"

"Well then why should _I_ be forced to give myself up for the needs of someone else?"

"That's totally different!"

"Why?" asked Bwana.

"Because one's food, and the other's sex!"

"Your point being?"

"They're not the same!"

"It's a service given and a service received, isn't it?"

"It's food and sex! It's just—it's just different! It's not the same!"

"Tell me one reason why," said Bwana, smiling.

"I—you—you know that's not the same."

"I know it's _exactly_ the same," said Bwana. "Stop believing what people tell you and start using your think muscle." She stretched out on the ground. "Oh yeah," she said, tapping him, "your turn to patrol."

Reyn got up, glaring at her, then walked away.

oOo

Atawale smiled as he heard the grass rustle behind him. "I thought you weren't coming back."

"I didn't think I would be. Do you know a Bwana?"

Atawale turned, smiling at Reyn. "I used to. Didn't talk to her much more after some stuff happened . . . why?"

"She peddles the same stuff you do."

"Really?" asked Atawale with a mild note of surprise. "I'd thought she'd moved on to 'bigger, better things.'"

"She's guarding herds."

"Heh." Atawale smiled and sat down on a slight rise, looking over Daima. Reyn stopped next to him. "So why did you come back?"

"I thought you might have told her what to say."

Atawale shook his head. "We broke apart years ago. After she decided to join that 'coalition' you're so happy about."

". . . Yeah."

"Oh, come now. It's perfect, isn't it? You get to serve the kingdom, spread happiness through the entire land. It's great, isn't it?" Atawale looked over at Reyn. "Isn't it?"

Reyn sat down. "What do you think would be perfect?"

"Who do you hate most in this kingdom? Or better, who does Kigune hate?"

"Well that's easy. It's Jito."

"Why?"

"Because he's just—awful. I mean, he has more herds than anyone, almost as much as the entire coalition—but he just hoards it all."

"Why does he do that?"

"I—I don't know," admitted Reyn. "Probably because he's so selfish."

"Why is he selfish?"

"I don't know."

"Then why don't you think about it?"

"You don't need to think about it. You just know he's wrong."

"Why?"

"Well, everybody says so. I mean, he's hurting other animals by not giving them food."

"So he should give them out to whoever he pleases?" asked Atawale.

"He only gives it out to whoever he pleases. He doesn't give it to anyone who has anything to do with the coalition. He just gives it to his friends."

"I know Jito. He doesn't _give_ anything to anyone. Not even his own mother."

"See? He's heartless," said Reyn, turning away from Atawale and looking over Daima.

"So someone can't expect to receive payment for a service?"

"Not for something like this. This is too important to be—exploited by people like him. This is the food supply, after all. Kigune and the others have never made a profit—and it's because of them that the kingdom is still alive."

"If Kigune was king, there would be no kingdom within three years," said Atawale. He looked over at Reyn. "You keep thinking with everyone else's mind. Doing what they say is right and wrong. I want to talk to you again. But what I want you to do is watch and learn—and think. And when you've accomplished that, meet me here again. Sound good?" Atawale stood up and walked away, once again leaving Reyn.

oOo

Atawale sat on the top of the hill, watching the sun go down. It was beautiful. He smiled as he watched "his" kingdom lit aflame with tongues of fiery light. He waited until the last of the rays had disappeared, leaving the velvet sky.

He'd come alone. He left alone.


	6. Chapter VI

_Force and mind are opposites; morality ends where a gun begins._

_Do not ever say that the desire to "do good" by force is a good motive. Neither power-lust nor stupidity are good motives._

_The purpose of morality is to teach you, not to suffer and die, but to enjoy yourself and live.  
_—_Ayn Rand_

Sansasha had been snoozing by the river when she heard a prolonged groan, loud enough to jerk her from her light slumber. She made her way through the grass to find her father on his side, a monkey over him—and the unmistakable scent of blood permeating the night air. "Daddy!" she said, springing over to him. "What happened?"

Jito groaned as the monkey, Moyo, bandaged a wound, pressing a leaf down on it, then securing it in place with thin vines. "I—I made a mistake, Sashie . . ."

"Daddy, what happened?"

"We lost an entire herd . . . the workers decided it would be better for them to join the new coalition that's forming . . . I tried to fight, but you can see how well that worked."

"But—but how? I thought we chose carefully—"

"You know as well as I do that good help is hard to come by." Jito sighed. "I don't know if we'll even have our herds within a year, the way popular opinion is shifting."

Sansasha stared down at her father's mighty frame, for once not seeing the proud, arrogant, selfish lion that she adored—but a worried, defeated husk. "Father—it won't happen," she said.

Jito let out a snarl as Moyo tightened another bandage. "Whoops," said Moyo.

Jito shook his head. "No—it will. It's coming—and there's nothing we can do to stop it."

Sansasha was, for an instant, stunned—and the next instant, furious. "How _dare_ you even think that!"

"It's the truth, Sashie."

"We can fight!"

"We will fail!" he growled, looking up at her. "What was the first thing I taught you?" Sansasha looked away. "That you are not to live by faking life—in any way."

"We have a chance to fight and win," she said angrily.

"We can fight, most certainly—but you know all it would do is slow a disease a little."

"Then what would you suggest?"

"We get out while we can."

Moyo stepped back. "There we go. That's the best I can do. Don't worry, it's better than it looks," he assured Sansasha.

"You'll get your payment tomorrow," Jito promised.

"And how do I know you're good for it?" Moyo teased.

Jito finally smiled. "I'm the only one in this kingdom that's good for anything."

oOo

Daba sighed as he lay by Reyn. "I'm booored," he complained.

"We all are."

"You know, they're saying that we may have to start catching the food for customers."

"It'd relieve the boredom," admitted Reyn. "Besides, we're not good for much else." His head was flat on the ground, same as Daba, both trying to just get out of the searing heat.

"It's slow today," pointed out Daba superfluously. "Real slow . . ."

"I think that's the fifth time you've said that."

"It's just that slow." Daba yawned. "Hey, you hear Wote's back?"

"Wote?"

"Yeah, Wote."

"Who's Wote?"

"You never met Wote?"

"If I'd met Wote, do you think I'd be asking who he is?"

"It's too hot to think," groaned Daba.

"So who's Wote?"

"He's a great guy. Comes around every year."

"What's so great about him?"

"He just is. He's always able to make you smile, always there to give great advice, he can solve pretty much any problem . . ."

"Sounds too good to be true," said Reyn.

"Really, it is!"

"Then let him take out all the selfishness and greed out of the world, and it'll be fine."

Daba chuckled. "Well, it does seem to work wonders when he's around. You wanna meet him?"

"You know him?" Reyn seemed surprised.

"Everyone knows him. You can just go up to him and talk."

"I think I'd like to see him, yeah."

"We can make that happen," Daba said, happy to be able to do something for his friend. "Trust me, he'll love you."

"If you say so."

oOo

"Hey there."

"Hey! What's up? Long time no see."

"Not a whole lot. Just stuff going on."

"Hey, you hear about Jito?"

"Yeah. Shame, ain't it? Seems like you can't trust nobody these days."

"I don't know. Seems like it'd be better, now that they're with the coalition. I don't have to work my tail off just to feed my family."

"You use that herd?"

"I use that herd."

"Huh. Small world."

"You too?"

"Yeah."

"You wanna get the mate and cubs sometime and get together?"

"Sure, over at the new place?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"See ya around."

oOo

Daba found Wote over by the Waterhole. The lion surrounded by nearly thirty other adults and numerous cubs and half-cubs. It was no surprise—Daba'd seen more than that around Wote numerous times. They weren't all talking to him—he just seemed to be a force of togetherness, of unity. It was good to just be around him.

He lay casually along with the others, blending in seamlessly. His black mane lay on his neck and shoulders, a smile on his face as he talked happily, contentedly, with those around him. One could see in his green eyes the spark of intelligence—yet there was strangely comfort in them, instead of the fear the trait so usually instilled.

Daba bounded over to Wote, a broad grin on his face. "Hey Wote!"

Wote smiled and grabbed Daba in a hug. "Daba! Hey, I was wondering when I'd see you!"

Daba beamed; Wote had actually remembered him. "I brought a friend," he said, turning to see Reyn carefully weaving through the bodies. "Reyn, this is Wote."

"Hi," said Reyn.

Wote's smile grew wider. "I've heard so much about you. I have to tell you, you're the animal I was really looking forward to meeting this trip. Were you here last time?"

"This is the first time I've heard of you," Reyn said politely. "I'm only just beginning to get into the kingdom."

"From what I hear, you're involved with some great people. Kigune spoke very highly of you."

"Kigune came?" asked Daba.

"Yep. We ran into each other the first day I was here. You were the first person that he said I should meet," Wote said to Reyn. "So where are the parents of such a fine, upstanding citizen?"

"I don't know," said Reyn. "Probably back home."

"They don't get out much," said Daba.

"So who are you?" asked Reyn bluntly.

"I just travel around, stopping here or there. I try to make it around to Daima about once a year. It's like a home away from home. I just see if there's anything I can help with, anything I can do to help out. It's what drives me, I suppose. It's a very social line of work; you get to know a lot of animals, you begin to understand just what makes the world go round—you begin to understand just what needs to be done to make the world a better place. You want to help you neighbor; act as if you're indebted to him, but absolve him of all wrongdoing. You want to work on behalf of others first. You come second to everyone and anyone else—you need to serve, not be served; admire, not be admired; love, not be loved."

It was words like these that moved Daba—these words of greatness, words of power. They gave him a sense of belonging, a sense of purpose. Wote moved over onto his side. "If you take care of others first, yourself last—if everyone did—the world would be a very different place. A better place. Just look at me—I've made it my life's mission, and I've never been happier."

"It seems good," admitted Reyn. "At least, it's what we're doing around here more and more."

"I have to admit, I never thought I'd see Daima like this," said Wote, looking past the group of animals around him and taking in the beautiful, wondrous scenery. "The time has finally come for change . . ." He turned to Reyn and Daba. "You two may be too young to see it now, but when you look back on this time, you're going to see that this time is when everything that happens in the next few years gets its start."

oOo

"Hey, you hear that stuff about what the king's done to Jito?"

"Hell, Atawale couldn't touch Jito. Nobody can."

"That's what you say now. Just you wait a couple weeks—you'll see it."

"See what?"

"Well . . . I'm not supposed to tell anyone this . . . but you can keep your mouth shut, can't you?"

"You know I can. I haven't told anyone about that time you and Asani went—"

"Okay, okay, no need to bring that up."

"Or about the time you started that fi—"

"Shh—"

"Or do I need to bring up the time—"

"Okay, okay, okay! You made your point."

"Now tell me."

"Well . . . let's just say that soon, Jito won't have any power in the kingdom at all."

"Eh, it's for the better, anyway. You hear he actually killed three innocents yesterday? All by himself. Had them brought before him and just _swipe_—dead. So what's gonna happen?"

"Uh . . ."

"That's all you're gonna tell me?"

"That's all I can afford, buddy."

"Alright, I'm gonna go tell your mate—"

"NO!"

oOo

"It was a nice sermon today, sir," said Rayan.

"Thank you. And it's Kasisi, not sir. I don't know how many times I'm going to have to tell you that."

"One more."

The leopard sat down and began picking at one of the carcasses that was left over. "Go ahead, have a seat and eat some."

"I really don't know if I should. After all, it's yours—"

"There's always too much, and I don't like waste. Besides, you've got problems to talk over with me, and I always find it much more pleasant to do on a full stomach." Kasisi gestured at the food. "Come on."

"But—"

"Look, there's no other reason for you to be here—and there's no reason not to be comfortable. Now lie down and have some good food and decent advice."

Rayan slowly did as he was asked, then looked over at Kisasi. "Thank you."

"Where's the mate and cubs?"

"Kria's taking them back home. I just wanted to wait a moment before going back."

Kasisi smiled reassuringly at Rayan. "You can talk to me about anything. Don't worry, I won't tell a soul."

"Well, I'm not exactly worried about that. I'm just—it's Reyn. I'm proud of him, of what he's doing—he's something I can be proud of."

"But . . ." said Kasisi, gesturing with a paw.

"He's never—with me. I've never had as strong a bond with anyone as my father—maybe not even Kria. But Reyn—he never wants to be with me, he's always away from home with his friends, or working, or—well, he's just never here. I want to be with him, but he just makes it impossible."

Kasisi smiled. "You're more compassionate than most of the fathers here in Daima."

"I can hardly believe—"

"My father was high most of the time and insisted on beating my mother and I."

Rayan's jaw dropped. "I'm—I'm so sorry—"

"Don't be—you didn't know him. Besides, he's dead now. But I don't say this for shock value, I say it to just give an example of what life is like here. You care about your cubs—and that's great. But there are more—many more—animals like my father than you and yours. That's the kind of world Reyn is growing up in. He wants to be with all of the others his age—free and independent. He may not realize that he has a choice, though. What's the name of that cheetah he's always hanging around with?"

"Daba."

"He comes from much of the same place as I do. His father left at an early age, his mother doesn't care for him at all. The gangs are his family. They're all he knows, and he has no reason learn anything else. He probably fantasized about joining as long as he was a cub; he simply wanted to get away from his mother."

"But that's awful!"

"That's Daima for you. Almost everyone felt that way. Even I did. The point is, Reyn probably wants to fit in. Most likely, he thinks you're a boring old fart and wants nothing to do with you."

Rayan frowned slightly. "That's not very reassuring."

"The truth rarely is."

"I guess the question that I have is how I can spend more time with him."

"Well, you're his father, aren't you? Make him," said Kasisi simply.

"Make him?"

"Are you telling me you've never had to discipline your cubs? Never raised your voice or made them do something they didn't want to?"

"Don't you think he's a little old for that?" Rayan asked skeptically.

"He's not an adult yet, no matter what his role in the kingdom. Bend him over and spank him if you have to."

"Just to spend time with me?"

"Of course not, that'd be overkill. Simply tell him firmly that he's going to sit there and have a talk with you—I assume that's what you want, isn't it?"

"Well . . . I'd like to spend more time with him, not just talk."

Kasisi smiled sympathetically. "Sorry . . . I just don't have any advice for that. I doubt any of us really understand what makes Reyn tick—from the chances I've had to talk to him, he's a very bright young cub. Until you know what he wants, what he likes, I don't think that you can make him want to be with you. He'll most likely respect you and love you—but you're kind of going to be just—well, not who he's interested in. I'm sorry, Rayan."

Rayan sighed. "It's alright. It's as much as I've come up with."

"Now come on, let's talk about happier things—this gazelle won't eat itself."

oOo

"Jito lost another herd today."

"Big surprise."

"It goes into effect tomorrow."

"We all know this."

"Jito's trying to get it overturned."

"Okay, tell us something we _don't_ know, genius."

"Mataka got kicked out."

"Did he now?"

"Yep. Daddy got pissed."

"One less royal to worry about, then."

"I thought he wasn't that bad."

"He's a damn royal. You know he's just as bad as the rest. Frankly, I'm getting sick of getting shoved around by them. What makes them so high and mighty?"

"Nothing, that's what. We're equal—they don't want us to know that. Same as Jito."

oOo

"Daddy, you don't have to do this," pleaded Sansasha.

"I know."

"We could take what we still have and leave."

"I know."

"Daddy, _please_ don't do this—not after all you've worked for."

Jito sighed. "Sashie, I don't have a choice—"

"Dammit, yes you do! Don't take this lying down! Fight!"

"You know as well as I do that that is not an option. I'm not going to leave you an orphan—"

"I'll fight with you!"

"Sashie, listen to me carefully. No one is going to fight. No one is going to do anything. We are going to take this lying down—no matter how hard it is."

"This is your life's work! You're just going to throw it all away?"

"I spent years creating this, I know. I spent countless hours and sleepless nights and did everything I could to get to where I am today—but you know as well as I do that no matter what I choose to do, there is no happy outcome. We're being robbed. I know this. We're lucky to be walking away from this with our lives. We just can't make a stand."

"Look, we have a few that our still loyal—"

"Sansasha, you are still my daughter; you will obey me as such. Might I remind you that none of this is yours, as well? This is mine to do with as I choose. I will not have your future be any worse than it must be."

Sansasha glared at her father, her eyes tearing up. "You're a fool," she said. She sprinted off into the savannah, not even giving her father a backwards glance.

Jito sighed and began the long walk through the savannah. He felt as if his paws were lead, each step taking painful effort. Yet still he couldn't stop the journey, no matter how much he wished. He felt anger overwhelming him, anger at injustice, at cruelty. He felt as if at any second he would burst into tears.

He finally arrived at the meeting place, several other animals sitting there. Innocent smiles were on their faces, lust glittering in their eyes. "It's so good that you could come," said Kigune.

"You were very persuasive. Where's the king?"

"He said that he wouldn't be able to come."

"Very well. Shall we simply get this over with?"

"Of course, if you'd like. Business before pleasure, I suppose," said Kigune, the others nodding as well.

"Very well. Before the witnesses here today, in accordance with the law decreed by King Atawale, I hereby give up to the Coalition of Daima full rights to my herds, all of them, to do with as they please."

oOo

Atawale fully expected to find Jito wallowing in misery to one extent or another. It didn't mean he was prepared for it. When he came to Jito's home, Jito was lying on the ground on his back, a small pile of herbs beside him. When Jito looked up, Atawale could see his eyes slightly bloodshot, his pupils dilated. Jito laid his head back down, muttering, "Oh. It's you."

"I came to apologize," Atawale said quietly.

"It's a little late for that," said Jito coldly.

"Nevertheless, I am _deeply_ sorry for what I've done today."

Jito exhaled a long, low breath. After a few moments, he said, "You betrayed me, robbed me of everything I have, everything I've ever worked for—you gave them all the power they needed. And not just me—every decent person in this kingdom." He looked over at Atawale. "I thought you were better than that."

"Sometimes . . . even the king must bow to the wishes of his subjects."

Jito sighed. "We're giving them everything they want—and we're not even saying it's wrong," he said quietly. "I don't know how you'll live with yourself."

"Neither do I." Atawale looked down at Jito with pity. "You're surprisingly calm. I suspected to get my face ripped off when I came here."

Jito nodded to the herbs. "It's these. They're—potent. It makes everything seem a little more pleasant." He shook his head. "I never thought I'd ever touch the stuff in my life."

"Desperate times," said Atawale.

"Don't give me that. There's no reason for me doing this. I just can't cope with it . . ."

"Yes, you can. Come on, get up. On your paws," said Atawale, helping Jito up. "Come on. Let's get some food in you. It's on me."

Jito laughed bitterly. "Of course it is. It's all on you, isn't it?" He looked up from the ground to Atawale. "They'll be coming for you next, you know. They would have done you first if you hadn't complied."

"Of course. I just—wanted to hold out a little longer. Call me selfish." They began to walk into the savannah. "I guess democracy's not negotiable after all, is it?"

Jito laughed.


	7. Chapter VII

_Would you kindly_ . . .  
—_Frank Fontaine_

The transition of herds from Jito's possession to the coalition's went surprisingly smoothly. There were no fights. No fuss. Barely even a whimper.

"I don't understand," said Sansasha quietly. "I just don't get it."

"I don't think any of us do, Sashie," said Jito.

"Daddy . . . I'm scared."

"Me too, Sashie."

oOo

Kigune smiled, looking over the kingdom from the highest hill he could find. _I run this place_, he thought happily. He looked over at Reyn by his side. "We did it."

"We did," said Reyn quietly. "Free sustenance for all."

Kigune put a paw on Reyn's shoulder, shaking him slightly. "And all because of you."

"Not _all_ because of me. I doubt I really did that much."

"You did enough to make sure Jito won't ever bother us again."

"His daughter will."

Kigune laughed. "Her? She's all talk—and nothing but that. She's nothing without her dear old daddy."

"If you say so."

"I do say so. And as for you—I've got one last job for you before we can get on with life again."

oOo

"I have to tell ya—there's no food like free food."

"Now you see, that's where I disagree. I don't think it's the food. It's that we get the food because we _deserve_ it now—not because we had to wait on some self-indulgent idiot."

"Well he's been practically run out of the kingdom, that's good enough for me."

"Damn right—this is _our_ kingdom now."

oOo

Atawale decided to lie down on the hill. Sitting seemed to be too much trouble today. The last, dying rays of the light crept over the horizon just as he felt a presence at his side. "You young people are going to give me a heart attack."

"You're not really that old, are you?" asked Reyn.

"Older than you think. So, what made you decide to come back? Made up your mind yet?"

"I—need some advice."

"Yes, you do." Atawale sighed, then looked over at Reyn. "Half of me wants to pummel you for what you've done to this kingdom."

"I'm just now beginning to understand it."

"Now's a little late, don't you think? You've managed to strip away every last bit of respect I had for you," Atawale growled.

"I didn't realize what was happening," said Reyn quietly. "I really, truly didn't . . . But it's too late to stop it now."

"Yes it is, you stupid, sniveling coward. You are the _worst_ kind of monster."

"You don't need to beat it into me," said Reyn.

"I think I do!" said Atawale loudly. "I think that's the only way that you're ever going to understand just what kind of animal you've become!"

"I came here to apologize," said Reyn, looking away. "I—I didn't know it'd hurt you."

"My entire kingdom will be wrenched away from me in a matter of days. What I have worked for—_slaved_ for—will have been looted away by Kigune and his gang. And you."

"I'm sorry, I really am—"

"'Sorry' won't change anything," growled Atawale.

There was a long, pregnant pause.

"Then I'll change things," said Reyn quietly.

oOo

"So wait, this democracy thing works how?"

"Okay, we get to decide how things run."

"But what if we don't like things like somebody else does?"

"Well, we vote on everything."

"Everything?"

"Well, new laws, things like that."

"Isn't that the council's job?"

"Well yeah, but now we have a say in what they say."

"But the council was just made . . ."

"Look, I'm trying to explain this. Are you gonna listen or not?"

"You're not doing a good job explaining."

". . . Go drown yourself."

oOo

"Son, can we talk?" asked Rayan.

"We're talking right now," said Reyn with a yawn.

"I was just wondering how you were doing, what's up in your life, things like that."

"Kigune's trying to stabilize the whole 'democracy' thing, and he's asked me to help."

"But—isn't Atawale the king?"

"If he doesn't step down, he'll be killed," said Reyn tonelessly.

"Killed? By who?"

"A faceless angry mob."

"And I don't suppose you'd have anything to do with this?"

"And what if I did?" asked Reyn, looking straight at his father. "What would you do?"

"I'd—well, I'd make sure you didn't."

"Way to put conviction behind that, Dad."

"I'm not going to have my son turn into a murderer!"

"And what if it's already too late for that? Have you ever thought of that?" said Reyn angrily. Rayan stared in disbelief at his son. "Who's to say I'm not a killer, a murderer? Certainly not you! What do you know about me? Name one thing. One thing!"

". . . I know you're my son."

"And what is that supposed to mean? Hmm? You know nothing about me. So why the sudden interest now?"

"Look, why are you being so hostile?"

"I see no reason not to be! You've left me on my own for over a year, for a third of my life, and you expect me to not be hostile? You were my _father_. You weren't supposed to let this happen."

"Look, I want to be closer to you—"

"You can't honestly mean that," said Reyn dismissively.

"It's the truth," insisted Rayan. "Look—I want my boy back. I don't want the—the gangster that everyone else sees, I want my son."

"It's a little late for that."

"Won't you even give it a try?"

"You dropped me out of your life. You let me go—"

"We both know that there was nothing I could do! I thought you were having fun—"

"Stow the crap. You were perfectly fine living without me for the past year—and I'm still fine living without you." Reyn stood up and walked away.

oOo

"I'm still not thinking this democracy thing is the best."

"Hey, these things take time."

"We were promised a better world. A veritable utopia, if you will."

"Heh."

"What?"

"'A veritable utopia, if you—'"

"Oh, shut your face."

"Look at you, acting all intellectual."

"Hey, we're talking about a very intellectual subject."

"You have no idea what we _are_ talking about."

"Look, all I'm saying is that I think we shouldn't have to wait ages just to get a bit of progress. I want to get change _now_."

". . . That's not how the world works."

"Well it should work that way. Someone should make it work that way."

"Okay, what have I told you about thinking?"

"And what have I told you about _shut your face_."

oOo

"You're leaving already?" Daba asked Wote, his voice a mimicry of someone under the most horrendous suffering imaginable. "But you just got here—you can't be really leaving already!"

Wote laughed. "I've been here two whole weeks—it's time for me to move on."

"But that's just not fair! We need you here!"

Wote shook his head. "This kingdom—well, not a kingdom anymore . . . _Daima_ is changing, and for the best. There's nothing that I can do here that I haven't already done."

"But . . . it's just not the same without you . . ."

"It'll be good enough. Besides, you need to worry about yourself—and about Reyn."

"Reyn? Why him?"

"Well—has he seemed a little—different lately?"

"Not really . . . why?"

"He's changing," said Wote. "And not for the best." It sounded as if Reyn was hurting him personally. "He'll become cold, heartless, without a conscience . . . So you need to be there for him. You're going to be his most important asset in the coming days."

Daba shook his head. "Reyn's not like that."

"I've seen this before—and it's just beginning for him. Without you, he'll be a monster."

"Look—this isn't Reyn!" said Daba angrily. "He wouldn't do that!"

"You'll see," said Wote, almost serenely. "But believe me—you won't enjoy when you do."

oOo

"You know, I don't get this. Things are supposed to be getting better."

"I don't know what you're complaining about. You have free food now."

"Yeah, but I don't have _my_ way. I mean, we're supposed to be all equal in this now—and I'm getting jack squat compared to the big guys."

"Okay, I admit that's a little bit true—"

"I mean, I've got my opinions, too! Good opinions! Why shouldn't they be heard?"

"Well you can't expect them to hear _everything_—"

"They should try! I haven't gotten a single chance to give _my_ side about _anything!_"

"I'm sure they're working on some way to do that—"

"They're not doing it fast enough. It's that damn Kigune, holding us all up, parading around the council like he owns it."

"He _is_ appointed leader of it—"

"He shouldn't be!"

"Why do I feel like the only voice of reason sometimes?"

oOo

Sansasha was thoroughly miserable. There had been nothing to do, nowhere to go; she was used to working almost the entire day. She felt lazy, unneeded, shiftless. It felt wrong to be leeching off of the kingdom—_It is wrong_, she thought bitterly. "Daddy," she begged her father, "can't we please leave?"

Jito sighed. "Not this again, Sashie."

"Look—we've got nothing left here, no ties, not even a reason to stay! We could make a life for ourselves in another kingdom! Somewhere that still has some virtue left!"

"Sashie, we're staying," said Jito wearily, his tone on edge. "And once again, that's final."

"There's no reason to stay! We're just making it more painful for all of us!"

"We're staying!" snapped Jito. "Now hush!"

Sansasha fell silent. A few quiet, uncomfortable moments passed before she said quietly, "I'll leave."

"Not this again!" groaned Jito. "There's nowhere for you to go, you know that."

"There's nowhere for me here! There's nowhere for anyone who wants to make a living for themselves, who doesn't want to be suckling off the government—"

"This won't last," said Jito confidently. "It can't last. Sooner or later, it'll run its course."

"And when it does, there won't be a kingdom to save. It will be a dried-up, empty husk of what it was, sucked dry and picked clean by today's parasites," Sansasha spat.  
"And then you can begin to rebuild."

"There will be nothing to rebuild from! You're standing by and letting them kill Daima!"

"Then maybe they'll see that their way doesn't lead anywhere," said Jito.

"Then what? You get to say 'I told you so' in a rotten corpse of a world!"

"You're not the only one hurting, watching them do this," said Jito. "Now I won't hear another word of this." He stood with a groan. "I'm going to get food. By the time I come back, I want to see your temper under control."

"Fat chance," muttered Sansasha.

oOo

"A lynch mob."

"Yes."

"You want to assemble a _lynch mob_."

"Did I stutter?"

"You put the guy in power! You can't just take him out because he hasn't done anything—"

"You said the democracy gave us the power to remove officials, right?"

"Through due process of—"

"We're removing him."

"'We?'"

"Yes, 'we.' Me and some others. Now tell me where we can find a lynch."

". . . Your mother dropped you, didn't she? Repeatedly?"

oOo

"I don't understand it," said Kigune. "I just don't . . .Why would this happen? It was just a couple of weeks ago that I was loved, that I was practically king!" He turned to Reyn by his side. "This doesn't make any sense."

"The animals can be very fickle," said Reyn, looking over the savannah instead of at Kigune.

"This isn't just being fickle—Reyn, I'm getting death threats, you have to do something! I've come this far, I've gained this much—I can't just leave it all! There has to be some way to get hold of them—can't you just work with them like you did before? Just—make it all disappear?"

"Yes."

Kigune breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh thank the gods . . ." He chuckled slightly, relaxing. "I never could have done this without you, Reyn, I couldn't have done any of it. You have no idea how lucky I am to have you," he said, putting a paw on Reyn's shoulder.

Reyn shrugged it off. "You don't have me."

Kigune blinked. "What do you mean?" he asked calmly, his eyes betraying his worry.

Reyn finally looked over at him. "I'm not working for you anymore."

"But—but you have to! We had a deal! You can't just back out—"

"I can. I have."

Realization slowly dawned. "You're the one—you're the reason the kingdom hates me!"

"Yes."

"You want it all for yourself."

Reyn laughed. "Of course not . . . You've made a complete mess—why would I want to have that?"

"Then why do this? We were so close! We almost had a perfect kingdom! People weren't starving, people were happy—"

"You were going to drive what little was left straight into the ground," growled Reyn. "Did you even have the foresight to see what you were causing? Or the hindsight to see why this kingdom had become so strong in the first place? You've damned it forever—and I was stupid enough to be a part of it. I don't know if we'll ever be able to rebuild it—but I'll be damned if you're going to stand in the way."

"You can't get rid of me!" snarled Kigune, standing up. "You can't just toss me aside! I run this place!"

"You used to. Not anymore. I can control the masses—and I'm sick of doing it. All this sneaking, all this lying—I'm barely able to know who I am anymore, what _I_ think. I can do it perfectly now, I know that. It took two months to get rid of the king and Jito. It took two weeks to take you out of power. I have never been this disgusted."

"You owe me! I made you!"

"I hate what you've twisted me into!" snarled Reyn. "I'm a pathetic waste like you—but not anymore. You're leaving the kingdom and I'm cleaning up your mess."

"You can't—"

"I have. You're leaving by tomorrow, or else that mob _will_ find you."

"How dare you threaten me!" roared Kigune. "How dare—"

"Don't lose what dignity you have left by pretending you have any power at all," Reyn said coldly before getting up and leaving. Kigune stared at him, watching him go.

_What kind of monster have I created?_


	8. Chapter VIII

_Suppose you were an idiot and suppose you were a member of Congress_. _But I repeat myself_.  
—_Mark Twain_

_Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups_.  
—_Unknown_

"We are gathered here today to remember the lives of two of Daima's greatest figures. It is not easy, losing both of them at once—they affected and changed the lives of many, for the betterment of all. Daima has changed—and these two fought against that change, tooth and claw. They would not have wanted to be remembered as wanting this, or advocating this. They were good lions. They want to be remembered as they were."

Sansasha stared silently at her father's body on the ground, tears slipping out of her eyes. Atawale lay next to Jito, both of their eyes closed. It was still difficult to believe—her father and one of her closest mentors, both gone in the same day. She looked away, the rest of the eulogy fading away as she retreated into her memories. A year had passed since she and her father had fallen out of the kingdom's good graces—a year since the "Commonwealth of Daima" had come to be. It had been a miserable, bitter year, with tensions running high. The final words to her father had been less than pleasant; they had had a pointless argument and she had run out, coming back the next morning to find that he had passed in his sleep.

_I'm sorry, Daddy_.

She shed a miserable, lonely tear. There were perhaps twenty animals attending the funeral, when a year ago there would have been at least ten times that size. So much had been lost over a single, solitary year—each of the animals knew it. Here they were, a miserable, rag-tag group, each one fallen from grace, each tied together by the two they had come here to honor. Sansasha didn't know what was worse—that she had lost the two animals that she admired and respected the most, or that the kingdom had lost them. The chances that she would see anyone here again was slim—the chance that any of them would come together again was just as bad. This was one, final meeting.

Some of them would continue to live, day to day, in Daima. Others would leave. Neither was an acceptable option to Sansasha. She had fought as much as she could against the coalition, her father disapproving the entire time. The way she saw it, she had two choices—she could try and save what little she could of Daima from the Coalition and the Commonwealth, or she could sit and laugh as it all went to hell, as her father had. As much as it appealed to her sadistic side, there was too much that she had, too much to part with, to let it all go.

She looked around the group, seeing friends of the family, friends that she had been able to go to with anything, trust for whatever she needed. Less than twenty of them remained. She swallowed down a lump that insistently popped right back up.

Her eyes fell on a young lion that she didn't recognize, sitting next to a cheetah. He suddenly stood up and the lack of the speaker's voice suddenly penetrated her mind—the funeral had ended. She saw the lion give a brief, cursory glance at her before he turned and walked away, becoming obscured by the few animals that stayed to give Sansasha their condolences.

oOo

Kaata lay miserably with her parents, picking at the carcass her mother had brought. There was dead silence, save for the sounds of ingestion. She was slowly becoming used to this, or rather, learning to hate it less. Reyn came to visit less and less, until he could almost be considered nonexistent. She couldn't remember how it had started, but he had left. He slept away from the family. It seemed the more they pulled him back, the harder he pushed away.

Neither of her parents would say it, but she could tell the tensions between them were running high. She remembered her cubhood, with happiness and love between the four of them. With Reyn gone, the bottom had slowly fallen out. She knew her father blamed her mother, and that Kria likewise blamed Rayan—though why they did was beyond her. Life had become an unpleasant, hostile reality, with every word having the potential to ignite a quick-burning fuse.

And Kaata was stuck between the two of them. She had been with the other pride, the formerly royal one, and had loved being with them. They were fun, interesting, enjoyable, yet every time she had come home from being there, she was glared at with disgust—though why they did was beyond her. She had slowly stopped leaving her parents at all, unable to face the stares.

So it had fallen to her to continue the unpleasant but essential conversations between the three of them, keeping some semblance of a cohesive family. She stayed home, only occasionally leaving to hunt. She'd brought up the idea of joining the royal pride to the family several times, but each time she only received two hostile stares—though why they did was beyond her. They could do so much more than just live this repetitive, terminally boring life. She wanted to help, she wanted to change it—but she felt so helpless.  
"So . . . they had that funeral today," she said. "For the old king."  
"That's nice," said Rayan quietly.

There was silence.

Kaata sighed and stripped off another piece of meat, chewing it far more than necessary. _I miss Reyn_.

oOo

"I still don't know why you dragged me to that," said Daba, standing guard around the herd with Reyn.

"I didn't," said Reyn shortly. "I simply invited you to come along."

"Oh," said Daba. He remembered that. It still felt as if he had been forced to come, as if he'd had no choice in the matter. He sighed and stopped to scratch himself. "Besides, it was just Jito and the old king. You didn't really need me to come along."

"No, I didn't," said Reyn.

"Huh," said Daba. There was only one other guardian on duty—and one of them would most likely be leaving soon for sleep. They were working with seven animals for guarding the entire herd, an absurdly low number for even a small herd such as this. No one was willing to work for their family's food—and why would they, when they could get it for free much easier?

Daba couldn't quite remember how they got the herd. Scratch that, he knew _exactly_ how they had gotten it. Reyn had spent day after day with the kingdom's spiritual advisor, Kasisi, looking for a loophole in the Commonwealth's law that said that all herds must be placed under the care of the Coalition—why Reyn had wanted to do that, it was beyond Daba. Somehow, he wound up getting dragged to the meetings, and had likewise been strong-armed into helping Reyn acquire a herd by proving that there was a "need" in a certain area of a kingdom and that they would be able to service it.

Reyn hadn't been the only one—prior to this, all of the herds had been moved to one massive hunting ground, the relocation process forcing several families to leave the area as well. Several other herds had branched off once the loophole had been found, most of them reporting straight to the Coalition. Daba could count on one paw all the herds that had fallen to independent "caretakers."

"I still don't get why we aren't giving this stuff away. I mean, everyone else is—"

"Daba, has it ever occurred to you that I just might not be like everyone else?" asked Reyn.

"Uh—well, you're doing it all a lot like Kigune used to."

"Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?" he asked with a yawn.

"Uhhh . . ."

"Good. Now I'm going to get some rest, and _you_ are going to stay here and finish your shift." Reyn shook himself. "And for Aiheu's sake, don't be sorry to say no."

Daba watched Reyn walk off, then walked over to the other guardian on duty, a strikingly beautiful lioness. Daba sank down beside her, resting his head on the ground. "You look tired," she noted.

"I am tired. He's got me running ragged, and is dragging me around everywhere—"

"He's working all of us hard, if you haven't noticed," she said.

"You just don't know what it's like, Epesi. I mean, he's just—"

"Oh, cry me a river. He's just as tired as you—more tired, even."

Daba glanced over at Epesi, looking at her. She was notorious for her actions; she'd slept with any animal in the land that had struck her fancy, clinging onto them until she got what she wanted, whatever it may be, before finally letting go. What she was doing with Reyn was obvious to almost anyone—yet Epesi had been a constant part of his life for the better part of the past year. It was the longest yet—and it was almost certain that she cheated on him regularly.

"I just want some break time," said Daba. "A couple of days to call my own—"

"Daba?"

"Huh?"

"Suck it up."

"Hey!"

She smiled and turned over onto her back. "Besides, this isn't even a job—just drift off to sleep."

"I don't think Reyn would like that—"

"What Reyn doesn't know won't hurt him—besides, you said it yourself. Shouldn't we be giving this away?" Epesi asked with a grin.

"But Reyn—"

"Daba."

"He gets pretty psycho about—"

"_Relax_. Just forget about it."

Daba stared at her for a few moments, then sighed. "If you say so."

oOo

Ausi had very little idea of what he was doing. As he approached Reyn, he couldn't help but notice that Reyn practically ignored him—he moved with purpose, oblivious to him. "Um—excuse me?" asked Ausi.

Reyn's head turned to him, his pace not even slowing. "What?"

Ausi trotted next to him, the leopard a bit smaller than Reyn. "I was wanting to work for you," he said firmly.

Reyn stopped. "And just why would I hire you?"

"You need the help. You've barely got anyone there—"

"Why would I hire _you?_"

Ausi swallowed. "Because I'm willing to work for what I eat. Because I want to."

Reyn stared at him for a moment. "New here?"

"Kind of."

"You do know that if you wanted to, you wouldn't have to lift another paw again."

"I do."

"Do you have any family?"

"Why?"

"If they want food, they'll have to work for it, too. I don't give handouts."

"I can share mine with them."

"You get one full carcass every week. One of the weakest."

"That's fine."

"You're going to be attacked. Almost daily you get animals who do it."

"I don't think I would have lasted a week here without being able to scrap. I don't mind defending myself."

Reyn looked over him. "Alright then. Be there tomorrow at the break of dawn. I'd suggest sleeping now. You don't get food until your first week is up."

"Thank you," Ausi said, nodding his head. Reyn turned and kept walking. Ausi swallowed—he had no idea what he'd gotten himself into.

oOo

Daba had decided that the new leopard had held up better than most others. Even a month after he'd come, he still somehow managed to retain the excited energy that a few others had come with. Most of the others had left, unable to cope with the lack of sleep and constant vigilance. Ausi seemed to be still going strong, despite the obvious weariness he'd picked up.

Daba had almost the opposite reaction that Ausi had. Frankly, Daba hated Reyn for putting him through this. He didn't even want to work here—why Reyn forced it on him, he didn't know. He would have been fine with the Coalition—he didn't see why Reyn put up such a fuss. He wasn't that surprised when an official servant of the Coalition finally arrived. It had been him, another cheetah, and Reyn on guard that day—Daba wished it had been anyone but Reyn.

The servant walked to the herd almost with a swagger in his step. "I want to speak to your boss," he'd said to Daba.

"Um . . . alright," said Daba, walking over to Reyn. "There's someone from the Coalition, but look, just let me do the talking—"

"Why?"

"You . . . um . . ."

Reyn stood up to walk over. "What does he want?"  
"Listen, you're not the best with the social skills . . ."

Reyn ignored him, walking over to the servant. "What's your problem?" asked Reyn.

"_Our_ problem is that you seem to be holding back sustenance from citizens of Daima who ask for it," said the servant haughtily.

"Yes. I am."

"So you admit to violating the law?"

"I admit no such thing."

"The law says—"

"The law says that this is my herd, and as such, I can do whatever the hell I want with it," said Reyn coldly.

"Well, the spirit of the law was intended—"

"The spirit of the law is unjust."

"What is so unjust about giving animals the food they need?"

"What's so unjust about asking animals to work for it? Believe it or not, Daima thrived on labor for decades—it's been a year here and you're already falling apart."

"You obviously have no idea what you're talking about—"

"You're going to leave," Reyn said, a slight growl in his voice.

"Animals are starving because of you!"

"You gave us fewer head than we asked for. You realized that this area needed a larger herd and shorted me anyway. You were hoping I was as stupid as you and that we'd run out, leaving the people in this area dependent on you—or me dependent on you."

"I assure you, no such thing—"

"And because I'm not that stupid, I'm having to stretch what I have. No one is getting enough food, because the herd needs to grow. In maybe a year, we'll be able to feed everyone twice a week—if they'd work, which they won't. So you can go tell your boss that yes, I'm starving everyone here, and yes, that includes myself, and yes, I don't plan to stop."

Daba heard the other cheetah snicker as the servant's jaw dropped. "You're—you're a monster!"

"You can tell them that, too. Now leave."

The servant turned and almost ran, seeming to be relieved to be away from such heathens. Reyn simply turned back around and kept patrolling.

oOo

Ausi followed Reyn away from the herd—it was nearing daybreak. For some reason, he loved this time and its utter darkness, the sliver of moonlight illuminating what little it shone upon. "Um . . . sir?" he asked, seeing Reyn's eyes turn to look at him, shining in the dark.

"I've told you—you can call me Reyn."

"Thank you no, sir. I was just—well, I've been hearing about the coalition trying to do a few things to get their herds back."

"It'll be a few months before anything happens—none of them will do something unless it benefits them."

"Still, we could use those few months to prepare. I mean . . . well . . . have you thought about contacting any of the other herds?"

"What for?"

"You know—permission to use their land, waterholes, maybe even borrow members for work. If someone becomes sick—well, we're screwed, sir."

"I realize this."

"You weren't the first one I came to, see. I tried asking Sansasha, and she said she's full up on help—couldn't take anyone else or else she'd start losing head."

"Good for her."

"Well, I know we're not exactly in the same position, but still, I think we could ask her for some relations—she's running short of a lot of useable land—"

"The only thing she has left over is some support from her father. She hasn't been anything since Daddy left her," said Reyn coolly. "I'd ask almost anyone else before her."

"Still, sir, she's the closest and I think it'd be a good deal on our part."

"You do realize we're competing with her, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did she put you up to this?"

"No, sir—haven't talked to her at all since she refused me."

"Hmph. Well, I'll think about it."

"Thank you much, sir."

"Shouldn't you be getting home to your family? They'll be worried."

"Yes sir—what about you?"

"I'll be fine."

"I meant your family, sir."

"Night, Ausi. Get some sleep."

". . . Yes, sir."

oOo

Sansasha had been ruthless in her control of her herd. She had been second under her father for the year after the Coalition's nationalization of the herds, and had been the first to take over the old herd once Jito had absorbed another herd. Even during those dark times, he still somehow managed to take it all in stride, simply viewing it as another challenge to be overcome. When he had taken over a third herd, even she had believed that they would be able to reach their former glory someday.

When he died, she had received one pride. "What is mine is mine, not yours," he had left as a message. "If you truly believe all you have told me, then I will be proud to call you my daughter."

Sansasha had been furious. All of her hard work for her father, and she had nothing to show for it. She was entitled to all three herds, not just one pathetic little one. She was used to handling the affairs of three at once, which itself was a step down from handling the largest pride in all of Daima. Saying that she micromanaged a single herd was an understatement.

Most of the others working for her father left after his death—almost instantly she found herself short-staffed, though not nearly as badly as Reyn. She worked her tail off making sure that everything was done according to a rigorous plan. Within a month it was thriving. Within a week, she was bored. She had half a mind to run it into the ground—it wouldn't take much at all. She had little land, meaning she had little chance to move the herd and keep their food fresh.

To occupy herself, she decided to take another herd for herself. She convinced the Coalition to give her more animals. It was almost impossible to maintain. She worked herself to the bone trying to fix it, knowing there was no solution.

"Ma'am, I don't want to question your methods," said her second-in-command, "but why is it that we are almost performing at a loss?"

"Almost," Sansasha said coldly.

"No offense, but—you've lost it," she said bluntly.

"Shut up."

"Listen, I got approached by one of Reyn's guys—and he wants to meet with you. I've been able to at least give the impression that our head's above water—but look, we're going to have to try to meet him half-way—"

"We don't _have_ to do anything," said Sansasha.

"If we don't do anything, you won't have a pride in half a year! You're acting stupid!" her lieutenant yelled. "Look, I'm not going to stand around and look pretty—we need help, and I'm not going to let you ruin this!"

"_I'm_ going to ruin this?"

"Yes!"

"You take orders from me, not the other way around!"  
"Take a look at yourself! You're a disgrace! I've never seen you this—this disgusting! For Aiheu's sake, you're at the verge of starving animals for your amusement!"

Sansasha glared at her, saying nothing.

"Look, just listen to what Reyn has to say."

"Why does his name sound familiar?"

". . . He . . . _might_ have been the one that helped the Coalition get support—"

"He can go to hell."

"Listen, no one knows that he did—hell, it might have just been said because he's actually got a herd. He's been working hard—something you've been doing nothing of. Listen to him."

"No."

"And why not?"

"Because he's a stupid, ugly, narcissistic, animal-using, moron!" screamed Sansasha

"You've never met him."

"I don't care!"

"Well you're meeting him tomorrow. Live with it."


	9. Chapter IX

_I must create a system, or be enslaved by another man's_.

—_William Blake_

As it was, Sansasha wasn't able to meet with Reyn the next day. It was pushed back almost a week; Reyn was being forced to have a Coalition overseer with him. Not one thing about his routine changed with the overseer there, including meeting other possible herd leaders. There was just one minor difference: a nervous cheetah nearly having a panic attack from learning that Reyn wasn't going to change anything.

Daba pleaded with him to do something different to show the Coalition that he meant well. Reyn led him aside. "Daba, I will say this once. I will lead my herd as I have been. If I change, the herd will suffer. I refuse to sacrifice my hard work simply to lie a lackey that I can be intimidated by an overseer. Nothing will change. Nothing at all. If I get one more protest from you, I will fire you." There wasn't a hint of malice any of the statements, not even a hint of anger. It was said as pure, simple fact.

"Reyn, you can't be serious—Reyn, we're best friends! Right? Right?"

"Yes, Daba, you're probably the best friend I have."

"Then why would you do this to me? We've got to stick together through this!"

"I'm going to walk back over there and continue doing my job. I expect you to do the same."

Daba stared at him as he walked back, feeling—distant. Almost two months ago Wote had come back for his yearly trip. Reyn refused to go with him to see the lion. Daba understood—Reyn had to watch over his herd after all. Fortunately, Daba wasn't restricted by something like that.

It was wonderful having Wote back, it always was—it seemed as if something had tipped over that last bit of balance to make the world a good, decent place. Most amazingly, Daba had actually managed to drag him aside. Wote politely declined the offer to visit the herd—"I've already heard so much about it from others," he'd said. Instead, he simply asked, "But how is your friend? What was his name?"

"Reyn."

"Yes. How's he doing?" asked Wote, his tone one used to speak of sick relatives.

"He's . . . he's doing fi—" Daba couldn't take it, he couldn't lie like that, not to Wote. The words came tumbling out, as if a stopper had been undone. "He's just so hard now—I hate it. It's like he cares for nothing else except that damn herd—he hasn't even talked to me away from that job for over a week, and he hasn't take a day off from it in months, not even when he got so sick he could barely stand, and he never has any time for relaxation or rest—I mean, I know it's an important thing to do, but no one else does it, no one else seems to be so hell-bent on destroying themselves, and—and well, he should be thinking about what everyone else is doing, what everyone else has to offer him, right? I mean, I'm sure they'd be more than happy to help, that's the best thing to do, right, to work together, to help each other out—that's the only way we're gonna get anything done in this world, and even you admit it, and that's gotta be right because that's the way it's always done—and to just go around punishing yourself like that—that ain't natural, is it? It can't be."

Wote nodded somberly. "I understand what you're saying, and I really wish I could say I could help your friend—but I've seen this before. I've even told you this before, that this would happen," he said quietly. "Animals like him suffer from a delusion—they're forced to labor under it for the rest of their lives. It's a terrible, awful curse, and it's almost impossible to lift from them, never entirely."

"You—you mean Reyn is always gonna be this bad? That can't be right."

"I mean Reyn will only get worse. Their mania, their need to improve, their foolish pursuit of unattainable perfection ends up destroying them. They can't accept what everyone else can—that there is no such thing as perfection, and that that's perfectly fine. They let their madness grip them until it's all they have . . . until they're alone, dying, too stubborn and proud to ask for help."

"You can't seriously think Reyn's like this," said Daba. "I know him—he can't be like this!"

"I sincerely hope you're right," said Wote. "What he needs more than anything right now is a good friend like you. You're willing to sacrifice to help him—and he needs to realize that. He would be happy to help you, after all, wouldn't he? His best friend?"

"Well yeah—he always would."

"Then you can stay with him, make him see reason, make him see the truth—that fighting like he is will only end in needless agony, ending up nowhere at all. You have that selfless spirit inside of you, the one that he needs to see. You're going to pull through, Daba, I know you will—you have the sense to realize what can't be fought, what shouldn't be fought. You need to be his inspiration, his beacon, his conscience."

Wote's words were well-known for their inspiration, for how small they could make one feel in the face of such insurmountable odds, for inspiring such a beautiful spirit of community and humbleness. For Daba, they lit a fire under him, told him he could help Reyn, change him—after all, Wote believed in him, and of course Wote was never alone in his beliefs.

Yet, thought Daba as he walked back to the herd, it was times like these, times when Reyn threatened to push away his best friend, possibly his only friend, when all that Daba wanted was to help him cooperate, realize that he didn't have to be so stubborn about such stupid, small things, that it made Daba wonder if he really could change Reyn at all. It was almost frightening to oppose Reyn—there were times when he seemed to be on the verge of violence. He had discussed it with Ausi, and the leopard agreed wholeheartedly with Daba about that. According to him, it was the pressure Reyn was under—yet Daba didn't see it. So much could be changed with just one small acknowledgement to the Coalition—why Reyn refused confused him to no end.

Yet what truly made Daba afraid were the few times he was alone—he wasn't sure if they were few because Reyn was avoiding him, or sometimes even if he was avoiding Reyn. They were the times when Reyn finally seemed to relax some, when he was away from the herd, even though it was never for more than a few hours.

It wasn't Reyn's body that disturbed him, he talked as he normally did, walked, ate—even slept as he normally did. What scared Daba was what he saw when Reyn finally felt at ease around him, when he let down his impenetrable guard for a few minutes or seconds. He would watch Reyn's eyes seem to twist themselves, filling with malicious intent, undirected and unfocused, yet nonetheless filled with a savage appetite for destruction.

oOo

Kasisi rarely got to see Reyn at all. Granted, Reyn definitely wasn't the most popular character to be seen with, yet the shaman enjoyed their talks. It had been fairly awkward for him at first—when faced with hard questions, Rayan had sent his son to the shaman. When Kasisi was faced with hard questions, he couldn't exactly dump it on somebody else. He and Reyn managed to have a long conversation over the better part of three days while Atawale was still king, the talk interrupted by both Kasisi and Reyn's duties. When it was all over, Reyn had simply said, "I don't think the gods exist."

It had been a bit of a blow to Kasisi—he'd been under the impression he'd been making some headway. All he could think to say was, "Well then that's your opinion."

The two of them had been on remarkably good terms despite the massive difference in their beliefs, mainly due to an unspoken agreement to stay off the more touchy subjects. They met biweekly for food and discussion, mainly of Reyn's herd. Despite how much Kasisi enjoyed Reyn's company, that was the only time he ever saw him—maybe an hour out of every two weeks. Kasisi was understandably surprised when he found Reyn outside his small cave, and only mildly so that Reyn was waking him in the middle of the night.

"Reyn? Whazzit . . . I need my sleep," he groaned.

"Sorry," Reyn said. "This is just the only time."

Kasisi got to his paws, trying to open his eyes. "Alright—what is it?"

"What do you know about Sansasha?"

". . . You woke me up to ask about a girl?"

"Yes."

"I'm going back to sleep."

"It's _important_," insisted Reyn.

"I'm sure it is," growled Kasisi. "Look, what do you want to know about her?"

"What kind of animal is she?"

"She used to be your kind of girl before Daddy died."

"My kind of girl? And what exactly is my kind of girl?"

"Now that's a loaded question . . ."

"Then answer it and be damned."

Kasisi sighed. "She's one of the real entrepreneurial types. She figured out the loophole on her own—and almost in half the time we did. She's a lot more accepting of the Commonwealth than you are. I think she actually lets them regulate her herd, to an extent . . ."

"So I shouldn't trust her?"

". . . I wouldn't exactly put it that way. See, she's—" Kasisi yawned long and loud, groaning slightly afterward. "You and her would probably get along fine, if you got to know each other. No one else would particularly like it, probably."

"Why?"

"For crying out loud, do you know what time it is?"

"Yes."

Kasisi groaned. "You're impossible."

"You're dragging this out."

"Look, stop beating around the bush—what do you want to know?"

"Is she worthwhile doing business with?"

"Knowing your queer standards, probably not."

"Very well." Reyn stood up. "Get a good night's sleep."

"Like I was before you came?" growled Kasisi.

"Sure."

oOo

When Sansasha came to the meeting, she brought her advisor and three extra bodyguards. When Reyn came, he brought Ausi. It surprised her—it was either a symbol of complete trust or utter stupidity. What surprised her most was when he finally came close enough for her to see him properly. She expected a fat, arrogant ass, complete with conniving eyes and an eternal smirk, running late and trying somehow to blame it on her. She found a haggard lion, run ragged from sleepless nights, body scarred from quite a few fights—yet despite the damage to his body, his eyes still seemed to pierce her eerily, full of life and intelligence.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," said Sansasha. "Now what is it you wanted?"

"Quite simply, we need more guards."

"I cannot force my own to work for you if they don't want to. You're very unpopular as it is."

"What I'm proposing is that you ask them to do so in exchange for using our land. Your herds need more grass. It's no secret that they're withering."

"We would need quite a bit of land, upfront."

"You can have your land when I have my guards. No sooner."

"If you're so informed that we're wasting away, you should also know that we need fresh land now."

"Then I would suggest you give those guards to us in a hurry. I need twelve. I'll give you an acre for each one."

"That will barely take care of us!"

"That's all I can afford to give. You have more guards than you need—giving them away would mean almost nothing to you. If you came here, it definitely means you've reached the end of the leash the coalition gave you. We both give what we can, and we walk away happier for it."

". . . Very well. But once they're working for you, I expect you to pay them."

"I understand. I also expect them to report to me—and not you."

"That's fair," said Sansasha's advisor before she could open her mouth. Sansasha stared at her as if she wanted to claw her eyes out. "You'll have them by tomorrow."

Reyn nodded. "Pleasure doing business with you." He turned to go, Ausi following.

"Leopard," said Sansasha. Ausi froze. Reyn muttered something to him and kept walking. He turned around and walked back.

"Yes?"

"How exactly does he know the state of my affairs?" she asked, quiet enough so Reyn wouldn't hear.

"It's not exactly a secret—"

"Are you spying for him?"

"What? No! Reyn's a lot better than that—better than you, at least!" he said, turning away again.

"Are you happy now?" hissed her advisor. "Well? He simply wanted to deal, and you screwed it all up!"

"He has a reputation—"

"A reputation which he hasn't lived up to for months—and if I remember correctly, you used to be able to manage competently. We _need this_, and you know it!"

"You're fired," said Sansasha coldly.

"Excuse me?"

"I will run things how _I_ see fit."

"If your father saw—"

"My father's dead, and so are his ways. If there was a single decent person left, they've been run out," said Sansasha. "These are _my_ affairs, not his, and I'll do as I please."

"Fine. Fire me," her advisor said, walking away angrily. "It's not like I'll be out of a job for long."

oOo

Sansasha found both of her herds growing consistently, with the absolute bounty of land that Reyn had given her—it was a beautiful lot, and even included waterhole access. It wasn't the best of his land, but if he wanted to shaft her, he could have done much worse. It took a week before Sansasha became bored again. It took another before she managed to convince the Commonwealth to give her more herds. It became more of a challenge, even if it was one of the most minor ones.

Yet it was more than mere idleness that annoyed her—she felt—unfulfilled. It was the only word for it. She worked happily, she worked well—hell, she was arguably the most powerful person in the entire Commonwealth, with more animals under her control than any one person. Yet there was something wrong with it all, at some level—and wherever it was, it drove her crazy. Her operation worked beautifully, and she had calculated every last part of it, but still it didn't feel right. There was something that was out of place, something missing, something that she felt like strangling herself over.

She found herself alone at almost every time—she'd spent nights alone since her father's funeral, yet she had almost always had someone by her side. Sansasha's assistant had been the last one to remain with her—most of the others she had used found the brutally whimsical nature of her decisions too scatterbrained to deal with. Her assistant had tried to persuade her to do otherwise, and found, ultimately, she was talking to what constituted a wall when it came to business and only slightly less of one when discussing other matters.

_I kept my own decisions, my own counsel, took my herd into my own hands—and even when I try to make it work—no, when I _do _make it work—it still keeps me up at night_ . . . She sighed and rolled over, looking around idly. No one was nearby—at least, no one paying even the remotest sense of attention to her. She sighed. Maybe she had been too harsh with her assistant—she meant well, after all. She wouldn't come back, Sansasha knew it—but maybe apologizing would make her feel better.

She flopped over. She felt alone, for the first time she could remember. That was what this feeling was, loneliness. Two weeks without any person she really talked with or identified with, and the feeling had just begun to really sink home. She sighed and put her head under her paws. _What am I doing wrong?_

oOo

The next six months showed exactly what Reyn could—and would—do if given the proper resources. Business began to flourish, especially through word of mouth. The guards and their family were fed fairly well, especially when attacks became infrequent, then nearly nonexistent. Ausi watched as the herd began to actually grow under Reyn's leadership (along with his own stomach), just as Reyn had said it would—and then found Reyn almost immediately confronted by Commonwealth officials as soon as it was known he was turning a profit.

It was everybody's secret that the commonwealth was having difficulties stabilizing the food supply—while the "take what you need" approach did solve the issue of hunger, it meant giving food to dozens that had none before, and more to hundreds than they previously had. The most pressing issue was the scavengers—Daima had already been subject to heavy immigration, due to its reputation as a hideout for beings of ill repute, but when said beings found they could enjoy evading the law _with_ the bonus of free food . . .

So when the Commonwealth discovered Reyn was actually gaining numbers in his herd, they immediately propositioned him with the offer of becoming Regional Manager of Distribution of Nourishment, a lofty, prestigious position with many added privil—

Reyn said no immediately.

When pressed, he explained his methods of distributing food. They offered to compromise; Ausi almost thought he would take it. It would, after all, be the first paw into the den—yet Reyn shot it down. "You won't like the result. You'll hear rumblings of having yourself replaced. You'll yank back everything you'd given me, paint me as a scapegoat, and in the end, most likely run me out of the kingdom. No means no. Now get off of my land."

It was the last thing they wanted to hear. Ausi found the herd confronted daily by officials, claiming that it violated such-and-such law, the law usually having been passed less than a day before, and had often spent less than a week in discussion in the entire council, in between snacking on food and discussing their families. Reyn managed to evade each law, even if it was barely at all. It only perpetrated a vicious cycle—with less and less time spent addressing the actual problem. Reyn had become the unofficial personal thorn in the government's side.

It was only when the council members found the herds in dire straits after those six months that they began to finally release the pressure on Reyn and began working on a more permanent solution. They couldn't have Reyn, so they did the next-best thing they could do to ensure the livelihood of Daima.

They hired Sansasha.


	10. Chapter X

**A/N: To say that I've been negligent to my fics is putting it lightly. The truth of the matter is that I've been without Microsoft Word for most of this summer (read: until last week), and while that has stopped my writing, that's no excuse for me to stop reading others'. Before that, there was no reason for me to stop writing and reading other than slacking. You've heard this before, but give me one last chance. Expect at least one more update before the end of the month, and more reliable ones after that. Friends?**

oOo

_The true hypocrite is the one who ceases to perceive his deception, the one who lies with sincerity_.

—_Andre Gide_

"We're so glad you were available for the position—" Sansasha resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. It was the only thing that she'd heard since she told them yes, she'd take the position. There had been that first few stunned seconds of realization of what she said—and then the constant fawning which she hated so much. Such praise of her abilities, her intelligence, thrust upon her like offerings to a god. They must have hurt their necks turning around that quickly.

"So I've heard. Now look," she said to the small group of animals before her, "how long do you intend on keeping up this charade in private company? Reyn has told you the truth—your methods aren't feasible. In an ideal world, no one would be a glutton. Of course, in an ideal world, we wouldn't be in this position."

They looked at each other. ". . . Now when we hired you, you said that you could fix the problem—"

"I said that I could fix _your_ problem. And what is your problem?"

There was more silence before one of them finally spoke up. "Aw, hell, it's Reyn!"

"Yes, so you say. I can ruin his hold on his herds, wreck his reputation, and have him run out of the kingdom for you."

"Of course, there is the question of why you would be so generous all of a sudden. . ."

"I have no ulterior motives. I'm not working for you for any reason of mine."

"So you say."

"I thought we were speaking candidly now? Or should we resort to your method of talking through our asses and hoping we understand a whiff of what you're saying?"

"You don't need to be so rude about it," muttered one.

"I do! I really do! Because that is _not_ my language, nor will I pretend to understand why you use it!"

There was an awkward, uncomfortable silence before the one who seemed to be the _de facto_ leader finally spoke up. "We seem to have strayed off topic."

"We have. Now is there any reason that you had me come here, _other_ than hearing my voice?"

"We're very interested in knowing what steps you plan to take in order to dispose of the problem."

"Well, very simply, how would you like 'the problem' dealt with?"

"In a manner which happens to cast a somewhat positive light on the administration and its efforts as a whole, perhaps reinforcing our own policies while discrediting those which are less than favorable at the present moment."

"_Bluntly_," she said angrily, a snarl slipping into her voice.

"Er . . . we'd prefer it done discreetly."

"Fine. We're done here," she said, getting up.

"But—"

"Done." She left, not even looking back.

oOo

Kaata knew it was best to keep quiet—it had already taken quite a bit of effort just to get her father to start accepting what he'd termed as "handouts." If her mother hadn't convinced Rayan that it was the kingdom trying to give him what he already deserved, he might not have even come out. As it was, they were nearly starving because of her father's arrogance. Rayan the prince, the future king, had it far below him to work for his own food—nor would he accept it like a commoner. It didn't leave too many other ways to have it given to him. Kaata would often bring pieces food back to her parents, not saying where she got it from. Rayan soon stopped asking after his stomach started rumbling.

Yet it had been weeks since she'd seen her father happy. Her parents' marriage was one of quiet, strained endurance—why, she couldn't imagine. They had told her the story of how they had come together—both of them had been ecstatic to meet each other after their separation. They hadn't ever been happier, they'd said. "So Dad, I was thinking, they've actually had a few openings in the den—"

"No," said Rayan, not even bothering to look up from his meal.

Kaata sighed. So very, very happy. Kria said nothing, eating in silence, her mind elsewhere. It wasn't just the tension, it was the boredom that came along with it—there was no distraction from it, there was no escaping it. The jungle was a prison of silence, one which Kaata rarely found freedom from—she was scared of the outside, and rightfully should be. She was a beautiful young lioness, and in Daima, that was all one needed to be found the next day floating down the river.

But Reyn had escaped. Reyn was outside—and he had last visited two years ago. She hadn't seen him in all that time, and they had stopped talking about him long ago. It was as if he had been erased, forgotten—the only news they ever heard about him was more scandals of him defying the authorities. Kaata couldn't remember the last time he'd been brought up for more than a few minutes.

"Well, you have said that it's too hot and wet in—"

"No."

"Dad, you haven't even _tried_—"

"Kaata, stop bothering your father," said Kria.

"Come on, he hasn't been out in ages for anything but church, and—"

"Stop it," Kria said firmly. "We're just fine in here."

Kaata sighed and resumed picking at her food. A few minutes later she walked off, before letting herself fall to the ground, at least somewhat alone. She let the sounds of the jungle wash over her, her mind going blank.

oOo

Ausi hadn't been under Reyn long. It couldn't have been more than a few months. He'd come to Daima for the reason most did—fleeing persecution, or rather, in his case, prosecution. There was no question of his innocence—he had definitely committed the admittedly hilarious crime. Of course, that didn't mean that he talked about it. There was no reason to talk about any crimes in Daima—snitches didn't live long.

So he began to question Daba's life expectancy when the cheetah opened his mouth on an exceptionally dull day of guard duty. ". . . So hey, how'd you get here?"

"Walked," said Ausi, deadpan.

"No shit. Really?"

"Yeah. It's some amazing stuff there. Maybe one day, I'll even be able to run."

Daba sat down next to him. "Look, I mean, why'd you come to Daima?"

"Because I could. Why are you asking?"

"Look, I'm bored, you're bored, why can't we just talk?"

Ausi turned to Daba, his face tinged with happy surprise, delight, and just a bit of hope. "Why Daba—I didn't think you shared that kind of feeling with me."

"Uh . . . what kind of feeling?"

Ausi put a paw on one of Daba's, staring into his eyes. "I think you know," he said quietly.

Daba slowly felt realization washing over him, then dread, then utter, chaotic horror accompanied by the intense need to back away. "_No_, no, I—I-I-I don't think I do . . ."

"Come on now—you can't deny the way that you and I have such a connection."

"We do _not_ have that connection. We don't have any connection. And my spot is back over there—"

"I don't bite too hard," Ausi said, his smile steadily widening.

"Yeah . . . I'd rather not."

Ausi simply smiled at him, looking over every so often. He hadn't seen Daba ever leave so fast when he was relieved before, Reyn taking his place. The lion walked to Ausi. "What's with Daba?"

"Poor guy bit off more than he could chew. Started asking questions about things. Look, I know he's your best friend, but do you really trust him that much? He's not exactly the most supportive guy around here."

"Why? What are you afraid of?"

"Well . . . just that he's going to do something we'll regret. He's even tried a couple times to convince us to just give up the ghost—join the Coalition."

"You think he'll betray us?"

"I—uh, I never said that explicitly . . ."

Reyn smiled warmly. "Look, thanks for bringing this up, but if anyone knows Daba, it's me. He'd grab it if someone put power right in front of him—but jumping through hoops for it? It's not exactly the easiest thing for him. He's lazy—he works off of others. I'd sooner expect him to tell someone what they don't want to hear than have him plot against us."

"Well no offense, but why the hell do you keep him around?"

"I don't—he simply chooses to stay."

"That's not really what I meant. Why not just kick him off and leave him with the Coalition? It'd make everyone happier."

"Your shift is over, I think you can go back home."

"Look, sir, if I offended you—"

"You're allowed to speak your mind. I encourage it. But Daba isn't your problem, he's mine. Just go home, get some rest. You might not get any for a while."

"Why's that?"

"You'll find out tomorrow."

oOo

By the time Ausi had come to the herd the next day, he had already heard multiple times about the new law that the Coalition had been going over—it required that Daima be separated into multiple pieces, roughly twenty in all. Animals could only receive food from the area where they lived, and would be required to show that they lived there.

Ausi was somewhat impressed by the law—if it was enforceable, it would cause at least knowledge where more food was needed, and if the quotas discussed were put in place, it might stop animals from relentlessly pigging out. Of course, that would have worked where had come from—animals had sense and restraint. Animals came to Daima because they had none.

Reyn's herd was exempt from this, as were a handful of other herds. The privately-controlled ones had grown considerably once animals had decided to simply accept the handouts, but that would only make it worse now. Once the public herd in one area was gone, there would be quite a few hungry criminals looking for a meal, and they wouldn't hesitate to fight for it.

After the law was passed, Ausi found the guard shifts lengthened and the number of shifts shortened. A few of them had to be laid off. "What's going on, sir?" he asked Reyn one quiet night, sitting next to the lion.

"Not much. You?"

"I mean what's going on with the shifts. You're wearing us out, you're getting rid of us—at this rate, the Coalition's herds will be dry within a year, and it'll be down to us. We _need_ guards."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because this is a place full of psychopaths!"

"Not psychopaths. Merely criminals."

"It doesn't change the fact that just about everyone here is _dangerous_."

Reyn turned to him, looking him in the eye. "Do you trust me?"

"It's not like that—I just don't—understand what you hope to achieve by such blatantly stu—foolish . . . acts."

Reyn's eyes caught motion in the grass, and Ausi's head snapped to it as well—a lioness was walking toward them, a fellow guard, come for food. "Maybe what I'm doing is foolish. Quite simply, I want faster growth. Fewer guards means fewer prey eaten. When the shortage does come, we'll be strong. And yes, we will need guards. But I'm choosing to believe that, when the time comes, these animals won't simply rear up, roaring and snarling, and race to destroy the last of what they have. Maybe they need a crisis to show them just what they've done, how far they've dropped."

"And you think it's a good idea to dangle meat in front of a starving mob and say 'Do it my way?'"

"Is it logically sound? No. Is it intelligent? No. But everything I've done to this point has been."

"And we're doing great! Hell, we might even be able to move it out of Daima, worst comes to worst—"

"There's a jungle on one side, desert on another, and a massive river on another."

"We might lose a few of the herd, but it's better than losing all of them, isn't it?"

"So you're not willing to take a gamble on the humaneness of the people?"

"They don't _have_ any—sir, you're worrying all of us. We didn't sign up to be lined up to be slaughtered. This isn't like you. Look, what will it take to change your mind? Something, anything."

Reyn said nothing. The lioness walked by. "Evening sir. Ausi."

"Yeah, hey," said Ausi, not paying much attention. A moment later there was the sound of the frightened herd. "Sir, you can't seriously do this."

Reyn looked up at him, and for the first time Ausi saw something more than that untouchable confidence. For just an instant, he thought he saw fear. "They'll come around. They have to. No one is that—_wrong_."

Ausi sighed, walking back to his corner of the herd. In a year's time, each of them would be faced with a decision: they could cut their losses and run, or stand and fight day after day, until Death felt they had gone on too long. He wasn't sure where he'd stand.

oOo

Daba wasn't quite sure what was going on—he simply knew that he was being offered a free lunch, a truly free lunch—Reyn's guards weren't exactly welcome around the public herd. Yet when he saw it was Sansasha waiting for him, it was enough to make him relax at least a bit. Since the lioness had approached him almost a month ago with her proposition, he'd found himself meeting with quite a few of the other members of the Coalition. He liked them—they spoke his language, for once. Sansasha, not so much. She reminded him uncomfortably of Reyn and his uncomfortable bluntness.

"Look," she'd said, "the Coalition has been slamming against Reyn for a year now—nothing's going anywhere. As a loyal citizen, I'm sure you'd appreciate spreading what Reyn has to everyone else—share and share alike. No one is closer to Reyn than you—you have a job of supreme importance. If anyone can get him to see what the Coalition is all about, it's you."

". . . But what's in it for me?"

He saw her lip curl slightly as she said, "I'm sure we can find something to do in the Coalition for you. After all, they always need men of action such as yourself."

Daba prided himself on a job well done—but it didn't help that he was running into a brick wall as far as convincing Reyn. But he _knew_ he had something to do with all of the others leaving. Maybe they were finally seeing the light—maybe Reyn alone with his best friend would make him finally see what's what. He sat down next to Sansasha, eying the beautiful piece of prey she had hauled over. "So what's up?"

"You haven't made any progress."

"What? What are you talking about? I've made enough progress. I think you're just setting your expectations a little too high."

Sansasha groaned, rubbing her eyes. It was far too early in the morning to be dealing with idiots . . . "Tell me then, _why_ you have failed to talk the _barest_ amount of sense into Reyn. Please. I'm all ears."

"Well that's actually a funny thing," said Daba, stretching his maw toward the meat.

Sansasha whipped her paw across his muzzle. "Talk first. Then you can eat."

"You didn't need to hit me!"

"You didn't need to make it so damn tempting! Talk!" she snapped.

"Well, I—I did manage to get him to get rid of a bunch of other guys—hell, they'll be coming over to work with you any day now."

"You mean the fifteen he let go, and are now working around Daima at just about every other private pride?"

"Uh . . . yeah, them! Don't worry, they'll find their way over to you. You know. Sometime."

Sansasha groaned. If her father was alive . . . well, he certainly did have some rather—radical ways of dealing with incompetence and idiocy. Of course, he never actually found a _cure_ for it—but it would be amusing to have a bit chopped off of Daba's tail for each act of stupidity. "Have you made any progress with Reyn? Any at all?"

"Well . . . he . . . look, I don't think you could do any better. I mean, the guy's insufferable. He never just—stops, you know? It ain't right, it ain't _natural_ to never take a vacation like that. I mean, you understand, right? What's the use of getting more prey if you're not gonna let us eat it?"

"Have you heard of this radical concept called foresight? I hear it works wonders . . ."

"You don't need to tease me. Look, I'm trying to be honest here. I just can't get what's going on in his head anymore. It's like he's _different_."

"You mean he's not the same?" Sansasha gasped.

". . . You're doing it again."

"So I am. Do you have anything _worthwhile_ that the Coalition should know?"

"Er . . . not at this exact moment," Daba said, eying the food.

Sansasha sighed, looking away. Daba hesitantly stretched a paw toward the food, freezing as she spoke. "Tell me about him."

"Who?"

"Reyn, you absolute . . ." She took a breath. "Reyn."

"What about him?"

"Just start talking."

"Why?"

Her gaze shifted to him. There was no reason he shouldn't have dropped dead right there. "Who do you work for?"

"Ah. Well, um. He's . . . he's just . . . stubborn. And I don't get it—a lot of the other guys seem to talk to him fine, but . . . he's kind of aloof . . ."

Sansasha let him prattle on—it seemed as if he simply wouldn't shut up. Not that she exactly minded. She sat and listened, tail flicking back and forth as he spoke. Every time he seemed to stop, edging toward the food, she'd urge him on. While it was somewhat amusing at first to torment him and his growling stomach, she found herself listening more and more to his words.

"Look, we've been talking for ages—what more do you want?" he finally said.

"Well, you've been a good enough boy. Go ahead and have your treat."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Of course." She stretched, yawning. "Oh, and you're fired," she said, walking off.

"Wait, _what?_"

Sansasha smirked. Maybe this would be a good day.

oOo

"Share and share alike—_that_ is what they intended, all of them. We were given minds, we were given hearts, we were made _better_ by the gods. Our ancestors were feral, hungry and selfish. But we're _better_ than that. Look at us. Look at Daima. For the first time in generations, we have begun to finally aid others," said Kasisi, the preacher pacing back and forth in front of his audience. Kaata watched him, sitting by her parents, feeling the light breeze play over her. Out of the jungle . . .

"We've begun to realize that we can live peacefully. Three years ago, there were practically wars over these herds. So much blood was spilled. Those of you who have come from the outside know what it's like—and you know how far Daima is behind. Yes, we have fraud every day, assault, rape, murder—but what drove all that? What drove every bit of it? The herds, and those that controlled them.

"Today you can go out and get as much food as you want. And many, many people have done so. What's the result? We're running out. No one's going to say it, but we are. We need to come together. We eat until we're stuffed, as if the buffet will never end. We can't do this. Everyone knows this. We can't hide it like this anymore. Decadence like that can't be held anymore. The needs of the community need to be put before your own."

Movement caught Kaata's eye and she looked over. A few other animals she hadn't seen before were coming over, sitting down in a group. She saw Kasisi miss a step, barely noticeable. "There aren't many of us that live alone. And while the needs of the feral most definitely were the needs of the individual, even they understood the needs of the community. The gods brought it to the forefront, telling us how we should act. Every law that they have declared, every tenet of every faith urges you to think of others, think of how you can help, and why? Because they know how we should live. They have seen the path of Daima, and I've told you this countless times before—Daima is creating its own path to ruin! These are its twilight hours, these are the days where we must either learn our lesson, or face our undoing."

"The Coalition took the first steps, whether we like to admit it or not. Under royal rule, yes, we were all citizens—except, of course, the royals. We all worked for the visions of one selfish individual. The Coalition has brought us democracy, a chance for every voice to be heard, a chance for all of us to make known our needs and wants—no longer is it we who work for the governing body, but it that works for us." Kaata was barely listening—one of the animals looked almost _exactly_ like—yet it couldn't be.

"We've made great progress in these past three years. The disbanding of private herds, the dethroning of the royals, the installation of a democracy. Many want to stop. They believe that there is only so much change we can endure. I say no. I say we push _forward_. One animal has a breaking point—_every_ animal. Yet with even one other to lean on, to support him, his resolve is strengthened _immeasurably_. Daima is no longer the place it was—we were the kingdom of corruption, of rogue, individual spirit. We need not live that life of debauchery anymore! We are Daima, the collective; Daima, the community; Daima, the whole! _This_ is what the gods wanted—all of us together. You look around here, and you see friends. You find fellowship here. I'm only one lone individual. I can only tell you. You can tell others. You _can_ spread the word, you _must_ spread it. We just can't wait any longer."

Kaata nudged her mother's shoulder. "Is that Reyn?" she whispered.

Kria looked over. "Don't be silly, he never—" Her eyes widened, looking over at Rayan for an instant. ". . . Maybe we should go."

"Mom, don't you even want to say hi—"

Rayan was standing up slowly, his legs stiff—the sermon was over. "Let's get food."

"Honey, I'm not feeling too well, can't we go back?" said Kria.

"Mom!"

Rayan looked at her. ". . . Well, I suppose we could. I was just hoping to eat first."

"We can eat later. Maybe on the way back. I'd just like to get some water, and you know I don't really feel safe without you."

Rayan looked from his mate to his daughter's face and back again, trying to piece something together and failing. "Alright," he said. "Let's go."

Kaata sighed and followed them, taking a look back at Reyn, seeing the group approach Kasisi. Maybe another time . . .

oOo

Kasisi had been scared before. Every animal in Daima had. Yet when that group of animals had come, each one a leader of the last few "private" herds, he had felt his heart stop. _This is it_. _I am going to die now_. Yet still he spoke, the group doing nothing, simply sitting and listening, a few of them looking at each other. He had ended his speech reluctantly, walking off, hoping to get away from them before they had a chance to sink their claws into him—yet when he heard his name called, he froze. He turned, seeing the group surrounding him in a semi-circle. "And what may I do for you fine gentlemen?"

"We just want to talk," said a lion, sitting down. It was Jabari, leader of one of the far eastern herds—it was a good hour of walking for him to even reach here. "Very interesting sermon, by the way."

"Well, one works with what one has." Kasisi swallowed, trying to make peace and not pieces. His eyes landed on Reyn, the lion's face unreadable.

"Tell me, do you plan on following your own advice?"

"Oh, I wash behind my ears every night." He chuckled somewhat nervously.

Jabari smiled, amused. "I was referring to the part about waste."

"I fail to see how that's applicable to me."

"Tell me, what do you think brings people here? Is it the joy of your company or the food you provide?"

So it was about the food . . . "Look, I feed those that can't provide for themselves—"

"That used to be true. Of course, things have changed, as you have so conveniently pointed out. Anyone can go grab any piece of meat they want, anytime, free of charge. Of course, you nicely take away the life-threatening danger of catching it."

"Well, I can't take _all_ the credit for it—"

"We want you to stop," interjected a cheetah.

"Look, every carcass is stripped clean, every animal eats his fill—"

"More and more animals come to hear you every time. They're lazy. They want a free meal," said Jabari. "You're becoming a drain—it's best for all if we nip it in the bud now."

". . . If this is a problem of where I'm getting it from, I'm sure we could work something out." Surely they must want something.

"We don't care where you get it from. It comes from Daima, and meat is quickly becoming more precious. Surely you of all people would want to do your part. For the community, of course."

"Of—of course. And . . . if I _fail_ to meet your valued suggestions?" he asked, looking from face to face.

"We'll remember it," said Jabari sternly. "All of us."

". . . Just that?" There had to be something he was missing.

"We did say this was just a friendly chat."

"I . . . I see," he said, utterly confused.

"Have an _excellent_ day," said Jabari, smiling broadly. He turned and walked away, the rest following. Kasisi stared as they left, dumbfounded. He almost forgot to breathe.


End file.
